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Copyi'ight, 1896, 

By Roberts Brothers. 

All Rights Reserved. 


^Inibersttg ^tfss: 

John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U. S. A. 


TO 

MY MOTHER 

¥ 



CHAPTER I 


This was the thoroughfare that Gilbert had 
passed along for some years every morning and 
evening ; yes, this was it, teeming with life ; — not 
the politest. 

The lights of all kinds of vehicles joggled, 
flashed, flared backwards and forwards behind 
the thin curtain of the fog, and broad quivering 
patches of light from the shop-windows lay on the 
pavement. Lamps fringing the streets twinkled 
away in all directions ; everywhere there v»^ere 
cross reflections, a medley, a turmoil of shifting 
lights. 

A world of clerks, peopling the darkness with 
red cigar-tips, chattered and giggled in the edstasy 
of the young life that wakes with the closing of 
office hours: costers on business and pleasure, 
children with big baskets or broken mugs ; thin, 
white-faced girls with small, very small bundles 
of work ; and other women with no work at all, 
but open red lips agape over glistening teeth, 
jostled each other on the crowded pavement. 

Gilbert swung along mechanically, engrossed 
in his own thoughts, a bad habit that had grown 
on him recently, and he no longer noticed what 
passed on either side of him ; with the callousness 


2 


UGLY IDOL 


of habit he walked every day upon the pavement 
he had so hated, a while ago. Yet this crowd, 
coarse, roaring, pushing, swearing, repulsed him 
still when he awoke to its reality ; sometimes he 
smelt the hot air from restaurants, the odors of 
tobacco and strong wine, and heard anew the 
excited voices and suggestive giggles from within, 
and turned aside shuddering. And yet, he thought 
bitterly, the people that passed him were miserable, 
like himself; one, here and there, — that shivering 
woman, clutching at her meagre black shawl with 
a bruised hand — even tragic ; others — that tipsy 
man, guided by a female urchin in laceless boots 
— absurd. Or was the woman in the black shawl, 
with her dirty face, her straining, gazing eyes, her 
bleeding fingers, amusing also? No doubt. 

Some six years since, he had torn down here, 
assailed with that need of action — action, that 
comes on a man in the height of passion ; and 
six months ago, vaguely aware of the throbbing 
life that hustled past him, and swept along the 
steaming pavement, he had stridden again, in 
such a fine fresh anger as comes to us only once 
in fifty years ; that storms and swirls about the 
roots of our being like some flooded river that 
tears up trees in its herculean fury. 

All this, of course, had ended in nothing par- 
ticular; his passions generally did. 

Just now, engrossed in his own thoughts, and 
far away in very flowery fields, he knocked by 
chance against a woman, who seized him by the 
arm and told him with a loud laugh ‘ to clear out 


UGLY IDOL 


3 


of the w’y of lydies.’ He became conscious of 
others of her kind round about, and fled in horror. 
Vile street ! he had known it so long, and it never 
ceased to repulse him ; he looked round him with 
a new shiver of disgust. He was not of the kind 
who become hardened to things they do not like, 
nor yet of those who stand by and mark with idle 
observance all the filth the gutter washes past 
them ; his one defence was the garment of 
dreams he tried to wrap about him. He was an 
unfortunate person with ideals ; idealSy these ice- 
creams of things of which boys take a farthing 
lick before they discover how they are made and 
how soon they melt. Then instead of doing as 
sensible people do, and discarding them for some- 
thing more solid, Gilbert stuck to his poor ices: 
they were not very nourishing. 

A swish of swing doors, a sudden roar of voices 
and a gust of bad odors reminded him that he 
was near the public-house at the corner. A bar- 
man came to the door with a half-empty pot in 
his hand, and asked briskly of a respectable 
woman outside what she wanted. Gilbert did 
not hear her reply, being too pre-occupied, but 
his ear caught a burst of uproarious mirth, the 
splash of the fluid from the pot and ‘ ’Ere ’s a kiss 
from me, ducky.’ 

He grinned sardonically to himself as he turned 
away into a dark silent row of dwelling-houses ; 
this very thing had happened to him in polite 
society a few months ago. He had overheard 
Graham, whispering so very wittily, his abomin- 


4 


UGLY IDOL 


able dregs of scandal; he had splashed and 
stained Gilbert to the best of his ability; more 
politely than the barman perhaps, but with the 
same intention. 

After all, he thought, there was nothing nice in 
life, and why was one so desperately anxious to 
live? Why did he, himself, love his life so much ! 
And then he smiled, for he loved Agatha, and she 
was life to him. Why was it a sin for him to love 
her, when it was no sin for her to love Lester ? Ah, 
pah ! he threw away the end of his cigarette ; he 
was going home, to his wife, yes, he had a wife, 
and he had married for money. He said this 
plainly, for he enjoyed being cruel to himself 
sometimes, and wilfully ignored the fact that he 
had after all the best of the bargain. As he took 
out his latch-key, he thought mockingly of the 
many resolutions he had formed on that night 
when he had gone to Agatha, and had paced up 
and down outside the front-door. He had resolved 
to be the dummy of others no longer; he would 
not give up all that was dearest to him in accord- 
ance with his father’s arrangements ; he, with his 
artist nature, ambitious, restless, — and clerk at 
Stanley’s,*— he would go to her to-morrow, would en- 
force her attention, would cry to her that he loved 
her, had loved her for many long months. All these 
things he had resolved, — outside the front door. 

He was a strong-willed man, but his will 
manacled his own hands ; a passionate man, but 
life had been hard to him, and the fool had 
never dared to show his passion in daylight. On 


UGLY IDOL 


5 


a ^oggy night, freshly roused and insulted, he 
could scheme earnestly the downfall of the 
world : in the morning he was a clerk, trudged 
forth to the office, and had other things to do. 
With that prickly sensitiveness, so annoying to 
other people, he was afraid on the morrow to hurt 
his own tender soul or hers. 

He turned his key in the door, and on enter- 
ing was met with a pleasant warmth, an appetizing 
smell of dinner, and his wife. 

‘Are not you. rather late? I wish you would 
try to be more punctual — it upsets the servants,’ 
she said, in that extremely good-natured way she 
had of saying everything, and that took the sting 
from any reproach. Then she waited beside him, 
with round eyes and open mouth, expecting a 
caress. She was accustomed to an affectionate 
brother who hugged her and tom-boyed about 
her with an unceremonious and apparent love 
that suited her simple mind ; but this was not 
Gilbert’s way, and he was quite unconscious of 
her disappointment, and the blank he left when 
he hurried into the study to look for the evening 
post, without a word of welcome or affection. 

At dinner, with his eyes glancing side-wards at 
the letters beside his plate, he asked what she had 
been doing during the day, and received in reply 
a little flood of news. 

‘ I saw father’s new coffee-house in Portal Lane ; 
I hope it will do as well as the others. I managed 
to get the paint to-day for the mission-room texts, 
and Miss Spears has started a sewing-club that 


6 


UGLY IDOL 


I looked in upon ; but I am already so busy for 
the Sisters’ Bazaar that I did not undertake 
any more work. I am afraid Sister Frances 
Secunda is passing away,’ she added, in the 
unctuous tone she had learned from hearing her 
mother preach in the mission-rooms. ‘ But one 
must thank the Lord for deliverance in her case, 
poor dear saintly creature.’ 

This was only laughable in Ella, while it was 
objectionable in her mother. It was odd, perhaps, 
to hear this big, buxom woman, with her ruddy 
face, big mouth, evident teeth, bespattering her 
conversation with sudden religious reference as 
other people use slang. She had grown up in 
an atmosphere of religion, which was somewhat 
mixed in her mind by reason of having her 
mother’s Salvation Army tendencies on one hand, 
and her aunt’s Anglican Sisterhood principles 
on the other. She busied herself with all these 
things as a matter of course, and without any 
particular thought. It troubled her a little after 
her marriage when she found that Gilbert was 
much too busy to go to any but very exceptional 
bazaars, and even her mother could only persuade 
him to attend one of the very charming prayer- 
meetings that were given in the drawing-room 
once a fortnight. And Ella suspected that the 
presence of the German ambassador and Mrs. 
Budd had accounted for his compliance. But she 
had an equable nature; she preferred sewing to 
those meetings, and did not regret the circum- 
stance much. 


UGLY IDOL 


7 


Her marriage had not made any great change 
in her life. She saw very little of her husband, 
and continued to district-visit and to receive the 
same circle of friends as before. She lived in 
much less opulence, of course, than at home ; but 
the house was her own and she mistress of it; the 
wife of a man poor, but with expectations. She 
loved Gilbert, and saw him in the evenings and 
on Sundays. In those circumstances there was 
no reason why she should not be happy. 

Once he had taken her to see some very odd 
friends of his. He had known one, whom he 
called ‘ Theresa,' all his life, he told her, and she 
liked her better than some of the people she saw 
there, who behaved in a very queer manner, it 
seemed to her, and she owned frankly that she 
did not care for them. Gilbert smiled. 

‘ Very well,’ he said, ‘ I will not press you to 
know them. I dare say they will not trouble you 
much.’ 

Since that she had, in her simple way, tried to 
make him drop them. She distrusted them. 

‘ Where have you been? ’ — ‘ Why are you so 
late ? ’ — ‘ Are you going out?’ — ‘You won’t be 
long, dear,’ — all those little questions conveyed to 
him that ‘ they ’ were absorbing too much of his 
attention. He invariably had a crisp answer 
ready, invariably did what he intended to do, and 
his calmness baffled his loving wife. 

But they got on very well together, and looked 
very comfortable sitting opposite each other at 
dinner, in their neat little dining-room. 


8 


UGLY IDOL 


‘O Gilbert,’ Ella went on, ‘I saw that Miss 
Humberston to-day. Is n’t she an artist, or some- 
thing of that kind ? Of course Uncle Lawrence is 
an artist, but he never comes to the house now. 
He was really very nice, but I am afraid that he 
was lost to the ways of righteousness. Oh, I 
looked for that sock this morning in the bedroom, 
but I had not time to mend it, or your coat. Do 
you see this lovely fern I got to-day ? ’ 

So she chattered on, an endless flow of Small- 
talk, which is generally interesting to a husband 
who has been away all day, and likes to hear of 
what has happened during his absence. And 
Ella was a person who made home bright. Big as 
she was, she had a certain school-girlish gaticherie 
of movement that gave one an impression of 
youthfulness, not elegant, but frank and whole- 
some. Her face had a freshness about it, too, that 
atoned in the eyes of some for its plainness and 
air of astonished simplicity; her odd, loud laugh 
was startling; her heavy footsteps and manner of 
banging doors also ; but these habits gave a taste 
of life to the dull house. She had an eye for 
decoration, and was at present painting the 
drawing-room chimney-piece in a bold design, free 
enough in touch to be artistic — unexpectedly so, 
for nothing in her appearance led one to expect 
such real taste and ability. 

‘ Come and see,’ she cried to Gilbert, bouncing 
from the table and running upstairs on the impulse. 
She continued at the pitch of her voice from the 
landing : 


UGLY IDOL 


9 


‘ It 's not quite dry. I am afraid the dust is 
sticking to it. Just call to Mary to bring me a 
cloth. Mary ! a cover, please,’ and after all she 
ran down to get it herself. 

‘ Yes,’ said Gilbert, suddenly conscious that he 
had not spoken much since he came home. 
‘ Really pretty, my dear, and very well done. 
After all, you are quite an artist, Ella.’ He put 
his arm through hers. 

‘ I ’m glad you like it,’ she said simply. ‘ Your 
judgment counts for so much. I wish you would 
draw the design for the door.’ Then she laughed 
— ‘ gaffawed ’ her father called it. ‘ Mrs. Leighs 
called just when I was busy at it, and she looked 
rather shocked. Of course I used to do most 
things in the boys’ photography room at home 
after they gave up using it. When she turned 
round to say good-bye, she swept the whole of 
this poppy off, and I had a great business in 
getting the paint from her dress.’ 

‘ You should n’t have told her it was there.’ 

‘ Oh,’ said Ella, to whom this had never occurred, 

‘ I could not have let her go with it like that. She 
is such a very good person, Gilbert, so charitable, 
and has brought the Bible and the name of the 
Lord to many poor boys for the first time. She 
will never forgive me. I am afraid she thinks I 
am not as good as I should be, and,’ she added 
meditatively, ‘ it was such a handsome dress, too — 
silk — and it must have been very expensive.’ 

Gilbert laughed. ‘ The cause of her anger, I 
dare say. If it had happened to any one else, she 


10 


UGLY IDOL 


would have exhorted them to bear it patiently. 
Never mind her. She is not worth bothering 
about.’ 

Ella opened wide her mouth. This was entirely 
against the principles to which she had been 
educated, and it astonished her that her husband 
should be such a good man without doing any of 
the things she looked upon as necessary to good- 
ness. So, without replying, she dropped the sub- 
ject, and reverted again to the chimney-piece. 

‘ Don’t you think a bee or something there 
would be a great improvement — a blue butterfly 
would look very well? ’ 

Gilbert’s arm stiffened and he frowned painfully. 

‘ No,’ he said quickly. ‘ I ’d put a white one, or 
a brown one, or — any color but blue. Put a bee.’ 

He retreated from her, and she was astonished 
to observe the veins swell on his brow as they did 
when he was put out. What had she said to 
disturb him? She began to wind some wool, and 
having, of course, no idea of silence, she asked, 
in the act of dividing a skein, why he was cross. 
Was he tired ? Why did he not take his medicine 
if he had a headache? 

Gilbert, exasperated, was turning his head to 
answer, when he saw something black with the 
corner of his eye, and he bounded from his chair, 
glad that an excuse offered itself on which he 
could expend his irritation. 

‘ That damned cat in the drawing-room again ! ’ 
he shouted, and the beast, recognizing its enemy, 
fled through the door incontinently. 


UGLY IDOL 


1 1 

‘ O Gilbert, I wish you were fonder of cats ! 
But I did tell the servants to keep it in the 
kitchen,’ Ella said with a sigh. She looked so 
good as she said this, and it was so kind of her 
to give up her own liking for the animal to his 
dislike of it, that Gilbert sat down again, con- 
science-stricken, determined to be pleasant for the 
rest of the evening. Just then his dog came in, 
a big, handsome fellow, wriggling all over with 
happy recognition of his master. 

‘ Here you are,’ he said with his laughing mouth. 
* Glad to see you. Had a good dinner? So have 
L’ He sat down between Gilbert’s knees. 

‘ Well, old boy, what devilry have you been up 
to to-day? I see a satisfaction and repletion in 
your eye that bodes ill.’ 

‘ No,’ said Ella, ‘ I don’t think he has done 
anything to-day.’ 

‘ You are getting that all in a mess. Let me 
hold it for you,’ and Gilbert sat patiently for half 
an hour while his wife disentangled the skein. 
She chattered and laughed. Ah ! this good 
Ella ; life would surely never be very unkind 
to her. 

So they sat close together before the fire, the 
dog snoring peacefully on the hearthrug beside 
them. This is how things should be after a few 
months of marriage. 

' A little blue butterfly ’ had got into Gilbert’s 
head, and as he went upstairs when Ella had 
gone to her room, he said again and again to 
himself, ‘ Petit papillon hleu, p'tit papillon bleu' 


12 


UGLY IDOL 


He loitered down the passage to his father’s 
room. Inside here was all that he knew of hap- 
piness, and sometimes it too turned to sorrow; 
a bitter grief swept over him when his father forgot 
to love him, and he had grown to dread the look 
in those eyes, the look that came and went. It 
was curious to see this neat, precise man standing 
thus, his hair almost singed by the gas jet, his face 
drooping, thinking of a little blue butterfly and a 
golden head in the sunshine. 

Ella suddenly burst open her door, and issued 
forth in search of matches. 

‘ If you were tidier, and kept things in one 
place, you would know where to find them,’ said 
her husband tartly. 

There could be no doubt that Gilbert was 
developing into a martinet. He went in hurriedly 
to see his father. 

Mr. Strode was sitting in his big armchair 
beside the fire, and the light shone brightly on 
his silver ringlets. He was busy dictating some- 
thing to Martha, an arduous task for both. He 
could no longer write well with his trembling 
hand, and Martha, of course, had never written 
well, and poetry, above other things, she found 
difficult to comprehend. Mr. Strode ruffled his 
curls with one hand, with the other motioned 
Gilbert to be silent, and Martha crumpled her 
rugged brow painfully. 

‘ Now, did you put “when ’’ on the next line? 
Bless me, make haste, what’s the matter now? 
I must get a secretary, Gilbert, I have said that 


UGLY IDOL 


13 


over and over again. How often do you intend 
to forget? You forget me altogether, you never 
do a thing I ask you ! I must have a secretary : 
it is of the greatest importance that my book 
should come out; and I suppose you have not 
seen about it yet? I believe you would like to 
starve me ; you don’t remember that it ’s owing 
to me that you are better off. Martha, is that a 
blot I see? Blotting-paper, quick, — must copy it 
out again — how careless you are! ’ He gazed 
about him irately. 

‘ Put it away in the drawer, and the pen : shut 
the ink-pot: now hand me that book, no, that 
one. Now, Gilbert, listen to this.’ 

Mr. Strode’s eyesight was no longer very good : 
but he thought the fault lay in his spectacles : he 
took them off and wiped them, tried them this 
way and that, and at last burst out: 

^ I must speak to the doctor to-morrow, that 
man in the shop cheated me, and when I wrote to 
him, answered me impertinently. You must get 
me a new pair, — now don’t forget’ He fidgeted 
in his chair, and his ringlets hung in a quivering 
halo round his face. Old face, aged by illness, 
with an odd vagueness on it, in spite of its irasci- 
bility. Ah ! this vagueness, Gilbert watched it 
growing every day. Beautiful face, with its fault- 
less outline, its little cross smile only wiped out 
now and then by that flickering confusion that 
came and went, 

Gilbert knelt down at the side of the chair, and 
took up the manuscript with a smile. 


14 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ Let us go on from where we left off last 
night/ he said, and began to read. 

Mr. Strode listened, and a pleased smile soon 
superseded his frown. 

‘Ah! what do you think of that? Hush, more 
slowly, — now — what, a word left out?’ so he 
commented as Gilbert read, marking time on his 
son’s shoulder. Gilbert also seemed interested, 
and turned with a bright smile when he laid the 
manuscript back on the table. 

‘ We must make haste and get it finished ; but 
a secretary would be a nuisance ; he would not 
know your ways, you see, and we could not trust 
him. I will write it out properly, eh, how will 
that do?’ 

‘ Well, it might be better. But be sure you 
make no mistakes. Do so many pages, and bring 
it to me to correct every day.’ Mr. Strode seemed 
to think that his son was still a little boy, and 
Gilbert did not mind, he enjoyed it. Mr. Strode 
was about to speak again, when a sudden expres- 
sionlessness came over his face, and he paused. 

‘ Er, what was I saying? ’ he murmured. 

‘ About this,’ said Gilbert anxiously. ‘ Look, 
I shall begin here, do you see? ’ He laid his hand 
on his father’s. ‘ You will let me do it? ’ 

‘ Yes, yes, my boy, of course. Now, observe 
how busy your old father is, he has done some- 
thing else to-day 1 ’ 

‘Really? Yes, you are always at something, 
but don’t work too hard.’ 

‘Aha!’ cried Mr. Strode merrily, ‘I always 


UGLY IDOL 


15 

was busy. I could not live without something to 
do. . . . Just lend me a hand.’ 

He rose from his chair with difficulty, and 
Gilbert guided him, holding him firmly and gently 
by the arm. Martha, entering at that moment 
with her master’s supper, watched with a sad eye 
Mr. Strode carefully feeling for each step, his 
eager face bent forward, clinging tightly to the 
protecting hand of his son, Gilbert, as watchful, as 
careful, peering down through his glasses at every 
obstacle. 

* Can’t think what makes me so shaky,’ 
grumbled his father. ‘ Never used to be like this. 
The piano stool, — careful' — yes, that’s it. I 
composed the music chanson You 

are surprised, aren’t you?’ his merry laughter 
rang through the room. ‘ I thought you would 
be, — but what ’s that ? Martha, don’t make such 
a noise, and put that down in the fender, to keep 
warm. Gilbert, just see that the ashes don’t fall 
into it.’ Gilbert placed the cup carefully, and 
returned, and then Mr. Strode lifted a dainty 
hand with a movement suggestive of lace-ruffle, 
and began to play with his tremulous fingers upon 
the piano. His head went to the music, he sang 
a word or two, and Gilbert, at his bidding, 
manoeuvred the pedals. Martha stood at the 
table, still watching them as they sat side by side 
at the piano, producing a music that was worth 
listening to, for Mr. Strode never did anything 
that was not worth listening to or looking at. 
Every one acknowledged his genius. 


6 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ There, you see, are the birds, — hush, softly, re- 
member it is early morning, — tree-tops just gilded 
with the first rays of the sun, everything else gray 
and misty, covers not taken off yet, you know, birds 
waking, that’s the stream, go on, louder ’ 

Gilbert approached his short-sighted eyes closer 
to the ill-written music, a proud smile upon his 
face the while. If some one only heard these 
compositions of his father’s ! When they finished, 
Mr. Strode turned to his son with a smile. 

‘ Charming, is n’t it? ’ he said simply. ^ It is a 
long time since we had a table-cloth opera ’ 

‘ Yes,’ answered Gilbert quickly. ‘Let us have 
one to-night,’ and he busied himself about it, 
pleased to see his father so happy and untroubled. 
A folded cloth was laid on the keyboard, and 
Mr. Strode played thereon without any hesitation, 
never making a fault. It gave an odd, faraway 
sound that was effective. 

‘ This is the angry father,’ said Mr. Strode, 
with an appreciative smile on his lips. ‘ Now 
this is the daughter pleading.’ 

‘ Now she runs off with the hero,’ put in Gilbert. 

‘ Precisely, and meets with a misadventure, — 
these agitated chromatics.’ 

So they laughed together over the piano, to the 
wonderment of the old servant behind them, and 
Mr. Strode was very happy. 

A big cinder, sparkling suddenly from the fire, 
fell with a great fizzing into the cup that had 
been put there to keep hot. 

Mr. Strode jumped from the stool nervously, 


UGLY IDOL 


17 

and would have fallen if Gilbert had not held him 
safely. 

‘ What do you mean by putting it there?’ he 
burst out. ‘ Your carelessness as usual, Gilbert. 
I never knew a more handless, clumsy boy, — you 
spoil everything, tear everything you don’t break, 
especially my things. I believe you do it on 
purpose. Leave go, you will make me fall if you 
hold me, leave go at once ! You upset my nerves 
completely, when I have done everything for you 
too ! I shall tell the doctor how I am treated ! ’ 

He called Martha to aid him to his chair, and 
he would not turn to speak again to Gilbert. 

‘Take him away, he does it on purpose, he 
takes advantage of this rheumatism I have in my 
legs. He declares I ’m ill.’ 

‘ I know it ’s only rheumatism,’ he grumbled 
to Martha, who said, yes, it was very annoying. 

‘ Get out of my sight,’ he added, when Gilbert 
tried to approach him, and did not settle down 
until his son was out of the room. The loving 
look died from his eyes, and turned to suspicion 
and mistrust ; he was certain that every one in the 
house plotted against him ; he was kept shut up 
and told he was ill because he was in the way, — 
oh, he knew all about it, his observation did not 
go for nothing, — he said ; he saw, he would pay 
them out yet. 

Gilbert went down to his study with the manu- 
script he was to copy out in his hand. He gazed 
at it a long while, and sighed over it miserably. 
Then he set to work upon it, but the pen twirled 
2 


i8 liGLY IDOL 

aimlessly in his fingers, and only a big blot fell 
on the paper. 

He sprang from his chair, his veins all throb- 
bing: he strode up and down the room ; what was 
the matter with him, — what was he going to do ? 

Nothing, he was only wretched ; miserable. 
But so many people are miserable. 

‘ Dog ! Is that you ? ’ said Gilbert, returning to 
his chair, and becoming aware of a moist black 
thing, a sniffing, muzzly affectionate nose at his 
elbow. He embraced the beast with the silly 
effusion that comes of sitting up late at night, 
and meditating in solitude over the littleness of 
life, the coldness and dirtiness of the Thames. 

‘ Doggy ! ’ said Gilbert, with his cheek against 
a soft ear, ‘ dear old dog.’ 

Dolphin wagged his tail sleepily. This indiffer- 
ence offended Gilbert, and he said, ‘ Cats ! ’ to 
arouse his uncaring companion. Dolphin at once 
bristled and every hair asked, ‘ Where ! ’ ^ You 

are a selfish brute, too, you — no, don’t look at 
me like that, I did n’t say anything.’ Then he 
laughed and then his head dropped on the table. 

In this house everything was quiet, with the 
heavy full silence of sleeping night. Upstairs, 
Ella slept the deep, sound sleep of a healthy child. 
Mr. Strode dreamed of his manuscript, a little 
pleased smile on his beautiful face. Downstairs, 
Dolphin snored peacefully, his nose between two 
big paws, — Gilbert, his head on the table, cried, 
cried ... to the tune of ‘ Petit papillon bleu ^ petit 
papillon bleul Ah, ah ! p'tit papillon bleu. 


CHAPTER II 


Everywhere was heat, — heat. A still haze lay 
over the Campagne Saleve, a great, glowing 
yellowness glared on its white walls and the 
dusty road outside, lay in a big sweep on the 
lawn in front, scintillated in ridges of light on 
the surface of the lake. The shadow under the 
trees was very blue, the mountains in the dis- 
tance very purple, but a brazen sun poured its gor- 
geous heat upon the world, and things ached 
and quivered with excess of color. The air was 
pregnant with the buzz of insects, and butterflies 
swung daintily on the tendrils of the vines, and 
the wasps quarrelled among the fruit trees. 

Spahi was stretched out on the stones in the 
courtyard, guarding the big iron gate as usual, 
snapping at flies, and panting, a long pink tongue 
dangling from the corner of his black mouth. 
Through the gate one saw the clustering roofs of 
the old town, the glittering water of the lake, and 
a ribbon of dusty road, leading thither. Jean- 
nette’s white cap bobbed up and down on the 
roof under the awning, and one could hear her 
humming and singing to herself as she sewed. 
Then she entered into conversation with a man 
in a cart who drew up with a prolonged ^Brrrrrr^' 


20 


UGLY IDOL 


outside the gate. At this, Philomene, who, like 
Jeannette, was French, clattered over the stones 
in her little glazed sabots, her red stockings peep- 
ing out at every step. 

Ah ! picturesque Philomene, whose red stock- 
ings blazed in that sunshine ! 

When the cart rumbled away she pottered 
back to the house with a great basket on her hip. 

‘ Mais^ vous n'aurez pas Pier-re^ 

Trott^ tron^ tron^ tron^ bri^ bri^ bri, bri-6, 

Mais vous n'aurez pas Pier-re ’ 

sang Jeannette on the roof-top under the awning. 

The children’s voices were audible in the dis- 
tance ; they were as usual in the little wood 
fringing the high banks of the Rhone. But, very 
often, Gilbert was there alone, under the trees ; he 
watched the sunlight dancing now here, now there, 
on the restless leaves that were never, even on the 
hottest day, quite still. There was always a little 
flippant flutter among them, and he wondered 
what their chattering was all about. And what 
a fragrance there was in the air ! he never forgot 
it, that pervading aroma of roses and orange- 
trees, of new-mown hay that was almost all flowers, 
of currants and apples that came from the orchard. 
He lay and dreamt all the long summer day on 
the edge of the river bank. Down below, it 
sneaked past, that river, with the fast slyness of 
waters that carry with them the secrets of cities ; 
but it had also the rapid, rippling, onward gait 
it had learned in the mountains, and only pro- 


UGLY IDOL 


21 


priety caused it to slacken and slip along oozily 
as it neared the town. Just above where Gilbert 
lay, the Arne joined it, white with the snow of the 
hills, leaping and bounding tumultuously, a savage 
with the mystery of black rockways largely writ 
on him. Gilbert watched the Rhone, blue and 
deep-bedded, the Arne, milky with snow, shifting 
along uneasily side by side. And there was a 
multitude of flowers about the banks, all colors, 
all shapes, opening wide mouths to the busy 
brown gentlemen that buzzed far and wide with 
such official importance. ‘ Tickets, please ! ’ it 
seemed to him the bees said, every time they 
alighted on the meek geraniums. There were 
butterflies that swung airily on the tips of petals, 
and very busy little spiders, irate, fussy little 
beggars, altogether colonel-like in their behavior. 
The big flies would settle upon his hands to 
perform their toilets, with the conceited self-con- 
tent common to them. They wrapped their heads 
in two springy fore-legs, they smoothed their wings 
with two other legs, and then they wrung them all 
in couples as a man does when he washes his hands. 

Or else, he was not alone on the bank, but 
Theresa would be there, spending her summer 
holidays at the Campagne in order to learn 
French, and she spoke English so that Gilbert 
should not forget it. Lester stayed at home, for 
no one but Theresa or his mother knew how to 
manage him in those days, so she came alone. 
Agatha was there very often also, because she 
lived a mile or two up the road, and came every 


22 


UGLY IDOL 


week with her mother, who talked to Clothilde the 
whole afternoon on these occasions, or more often 
with Mr. Strode in the studio. 

Even then Theresa was a shrivelled person with 
no pretence to beauty, whereas Agatha was fair 
and soft, with poetic eyes that peered shyly on 
the world under their long lashes. Her dolls 
were great people, queens and princes, the tan- 
gible embodiments of a wonderful romance that 
occupied her complete attention. 

She sat now, with her back against a tree, 
surrounded by sundry limp or very stiff dolls, that 
extended their arms with the beaming effusiveness 
or lay in the drunkly sentimental attitudes peculiar 
to persons of their construction. Ah well ! those 
sad dollies have been shut up now in a cupboard, 
side by side with other relics, and much sunshine 
has been locked away in their flaxen hair. Agatha 
dreamy-eyed has fingered musty morsels of silk — 
oh, it was nice when there were dolls in the world, 
and Monsieur Polichinelle clapped his hands in 
one’s face and shook his humps merrily. 

Ah ! Monsieur Po ! — 

Ah ! Monsieur Li ! — 

Ah ! Monsieur Chi ! — 

Ah ! Monsieur Nelle ! — 

Ah ! M. Polichi — polichinelle ! — 

Ah ! M. Polichinelle ! — 

where are you now? 

Gilbert had possessed himself of a doll, and was 
watching its waxen tears, produced by the sun, 
with great satisfaction. 


UGLY IDOL 


23 


^ It ’s a pity,’ soliloquized Agatha, ‘ that Prince 
Charlie has n’t got any braces to his drawers. 
Men always have them. Have yours got braces, 
Bertie? ’ 

^No.’ 

‘ Oh,’ said Agatha, with great disappointment, 
* then you are n’t a man.’ 

‘ I am a man,’ he shouted angrily. ‘ Father 
does n’t wear them, and look how strong I am ! ’ 
with that he stuck his fist slap against her chest 
and made her cough. She did not cry, but was 
about to apologize, when Theresa, fearing a quar- 
rel, called out sharply, 

‘ Oh, do take care, or the sawdust ’ll come out.’ 

‘ She ’s not made of sawdust,’ said Gilbert, 
already smiling an ingratiating smile, that saved 
him many punishments. He smiled most when 
in disgrace, and had an air of being furtively 
proud of his sins that delighted Mr. Strode. 

‘ I know,’ answered Theresa, who, as usual, had 
spoken first and thought after. ‘ But something 
would have happened.’ 

‘ I say, Piggie, this doll is crying,’ was his next 
remark. 

‘Oh, that’s Victoria Jane: she dies young. 
I made it that way because she always did look 
sad.’ 

‘ It ’s because you stuff her every morning with 
bread and milk, and it goes sour,’ said Theresa 
meditatively. 

‘ No, — but look — how jolly ! — they ’re rolling 
down her cheeks.’ 


24 


UGLY IDOL 


* Oh, you are a horrid thing ! I ’ll never forgive 
you, — never. She ’s melting 1 ’ 

Agatha sobbed, and Gilbert looked a little 
contrite, still watching Victoria Jane’s dolorous 
face with the corner of his eye and secret satis- 
faction. 

‘You can make it consumption,’ suggested 
Theresa. 

‘ What ’s that ? ’ 

‘ Oh, something you die of slowly, ’ she ex- 
plained vaguely. 

This satisfied Agatha, and Gilbert, wishing to 
atone for his brutality, began to weave a new 
romance about the unresponsive persons of these 
dolls. 

‘ Let ’s pretend that this one is a crusader.* 

‘ Let ’s pretend ! ’ that is the ‘open sesame ’ to 
the wondertul world where everything is as one 
wishes it to be, where one hears what one wants 
to hear, sees what one wants to see. What a 
sun shines, what adventures come to one, — so 
easily. A pinafore turned inside out is a robe of 
satin, a gnarled branch a prancing steed. How 
one works, how one labors, all day long: what 
a lot there is to do. How brows are creased in 
thought over the plans of battles that are fought 
by soldiers whose heads come off, and the less ac- 
complished infantry, whose only way of dying is 
to topple ungracefully side-ways. And Gilbert’s 
soldiers had only profiles, so that he found it 
necessary to pretend that they died with their 
wounds in front, and Agatha came to bury them, 


UGLY IDOL 


25 

singing the Marseillaise, with many tears for the 
noble heroes glistening in her eyes. 

‘ This one,’ concluded Gilbert, excitedly, 

* should die now. What a pity its lids don’t 
come down. ’ 

* But heaps of people die with a glassy stare, ’ 
said Theresa. 

So the afternoon passed away, and the great 
hot sun dropped down behind the trees, whose 
black outline traced a landscape that attracted 
Gilbert’s quick imagination. 

‘ I say ’ he began, when Theresa inter- 

rupted him. 

' Oh bother, — it ’s time ! ’ she said, and they 
all sighed. 

‘ Mais voyons ! ’ cried a deep voice behind them, 
and on the path stood Jeannette, her ample person 
filling the space between the mulberry-bushes. 
In fact, at that distance, one might easily have 
mistaken her for a tub with a towel hung to 
dry over one of its rotund sides, a long handled 
mop projecting above it. She gesticulated with 
vivacity, and her thimble flashed in the sun. 
She wore very loose soft slippers and did not 
care to walk much. She therefore shouted. 

^ Voyons y M. Giiilhert ! la collation ! C est servi 
— qiie faites vons la ? elites done ! Venez vite^ 
Men vite, voyons ! ’ 

The children approached and Jeannette mar- 
shalled them before, her black brows drawn 
together in their usual fierce frown. 

^Qtt est'Ce que dest que vous avez Id sur votre 


26 


UGLY IDOL 


tablierf Oh Id, Id, la pauvre ponp^e ! Je fC ai 
jamais vu des enfants si michafits, jama s, jamais. 
Mais voyons, pas de bitises — daine ! Mademoiselle, 
pas si vite, — marchez done d mes coUs, voyons ! ’ 

Jeannette continued to converse in this manner 
until they reached the drawing-room steps, where 
Clothilde was sitting, working quietly as usual. 
These steps were so wide as to form almost a 
terrace, and at each end stood the orange-trees, 
wafting a dainty fragrance abroad on the cooling 
air. 

‘Ah.!^ here’s M. le jils T Mr. Strode cried, 
coming out into the sunlight, his golden beard 
and hair shining under his hat. Gilbert ran to 
meet him. 

father, where have you been.^ Why did 
you go without me.? did you paint anything.? 
Do let us see. What jolly cakes, I ’m so hungry. ’ 

‘ Chicken and ham and pots of jam, that ’s all 
you think of, greedy ! ’ 

They sat down together in the same chair, and 
found much to say to each other, and much to 
laugh at. 

Mr. Strode was followed by Mrs. Yorke, who 
came with a soft ripple of lace and silk. A most 
charming little woman, who always ornamented 
the situation in which she was placed. 

‘ How dreadfully untidy you are, my child, 
really, it is quite time we went home,’ she said, 
aimlessly smoothing Agatha’s hair from her fore- 
head. ‘ I wish I had a boy, Gilbert even when he 
is dirty and untidy always looks so nice. ’ 


UGLY IDOL 


27 


^ But consider the hot-water this youngster 
keeps me in; I always get the lion’s share of his 
scrapes,’ and Mr. Strode glanced across at his 
wife mischievously. 

‘ Because you are the lion of course. Always 
busy, Clothilde, I never knew such creatures ! one 
can’t come here without finding you both as busy 
as possible. And yet you seem happy ! ’ she 
paused on the steps, the lace edge of her parasol 
framing her piquant little face. 

‘ Busy doing nothing generally,’ murmured 
Clothilde. 

‘ Yes, but what a happy existence. Think of 
me who am bored when I am busy. ’ 

‘ You do not look so just now.’ 

‘ Oh, I am never bored here, ’ she replied gush- 
ingly, and Mr. Strode laughed. With a final 
wave of the parasol she disappeared, and her 
little Victoria was heard to drive away. She 
had forgotten Agatha, who stayed to tea, and 
was taken home later by the concierge. 

Gilbert sat silent beside his father, after the 
first spasm of chatter, and kept his eyes fixed on 
this handsome face, watching its every expression, 
every movement. He was perhaps vaguely 
conscious of the green lawn, in shadow now, 
edged all round with flowers and bushes, that 
scented the air delicately; of the steps, still in 
the sunshine, with his father sprawling all his 
length in a bath of light ; of his dark, quiet mother 
in the shade of the doorway ; and of the little table 
laid out with dainty china, one of Mr. Strode’ s 


28 


UGLY IDOL 


innumerable fancies; of the still afternoon land- 
scape beyond, alive with that quiet movement of 
things that precedes the silence of the evening, 
that far away tinkle of cows in the valley, the 
< Irrrrm ! ’ of the peasant to his horses, the 
last clank of the anvil in the smithy, the busy 
clatter of sabots in the courtyard, the six o’clock 
Angelas of the Roman Catholic church in the 
town — perhaps he was aware of it all. After- 
wards it came back to him very vividly, all 
wrapped in that golden sunshine, and with the 
peculiar fragrance of old things, the aroma that 
lingers round remembrances and makes them 
sweet. The smell of life when it was new; yes, 
the smell of it . . . 

A happy boy, — Gilbert. 

And he had the happiest of fathers. The 
somewhat unsatisfactory state of his pecuniary 
affairs did not prevent Mr. Strode from enjoying 
himself to the utmost. He taught this to Gilbert, 
who learned his lesson readily. But then he 
adored his father rather as some idol than any- 
thing quite human, and Mr. Strode served as the 
peg from which depended all the different garbs 
of his imaginings. Thus his father was succes- 
sively a Viking, a knight, a crusader, a red Indian, 
or Wellington, and all of these had the golden 
hair, the tall figure of the well-loved father. He 
drew them in chalk on the scullery wall, and when 
Jeannette came with a fierce frown and a broom 
to sweep them off, he smiled charmingly, and 
chalked moustaches on her face with such an im- 


UGLY IDOL 


29 

pudent grace, that she retired with the conviction 
that he would be a great artist some day. 

* Qti est-ce que tii me chantes la va ! Tu me 
fais perdre le temps ! Babillard ! ’ she growled as 
she disappeared. 

A most charming place, this Campagne Saleve, 
with its gardens, its orchards, its orange-trees; 
its beautiful or grotesque treasures, that it had 
pleased Mr. Strode to collect at one time or 
another. 

An exquisite miniature of a place this, and life 
sparkled there with the highest polish; the polish 
that cracks most easily. 

‘Pleasure, — always pleasure ! ’ cried Mr. Strode, 
and he spent his existence seeking for it ; it was 
to him so essential that it became a most serious 
matter, almost a trouble. Pleasure is a snail of 
a creature, and he recedes into his shell from the 
hand that would grasp him. But to Gilbert, who 
looked as children look, with his outside eyes at 
the outside of things, the sun did not speckle with 
too long a staring, the snail did not draw in its 
horns for he did not try to catch them. He saw 
only the beauty of his surroundings, and was con- 
tent therewith. He felt the warmth of the sun and 
heard the birds sing. Who would want more.^ 

When he woke in the morning, he laughed with 
sheer joy for the life that was in him; and in the 
hall, there was his father laughing too, playing 
with his dogs. 

‘ Bonjoiir^ bonjour^ M. le fils ! ’ cried this merry 
gentleman. 


30 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ Bonjour^ honjour, hon petit p^re ador^ ! ’ re- 
turned the son in the jargon of French children. 

Mephistopheles smiled also, looking at this 
pastille, this exquisite dainty little picture. 

Then, all day long, nothing but a busy enjoy- 
ment of pleasure. Clothilde sat in the shade of 
the great tree on the lawn, conversing with Mr. 
Strode through the wide-open studio window. 
The children came and went, and Jeannette’s 
sonorous ‘ Voyons / ’ sounded in the distance. 
Gilbert appeared now and then from some far 
corner, and raised a hot excited face to the head 
in the window, and he received more than his fair 
share of attention. He was a delightful play- 
thing, not old enough to be tiresome and a 
trouble ; and of course he brought his scraps of 
news to the big play-fellow who took so much 
interest in all his doings. Clothilde was only a 
shadow in the back-ground of his life; one of the 
many things that existed but to which he paid 
no great attention, just at that moment. He 
loved her a little less than any one else, because 
it was she only who punished him. Or Mr. 
Strode himself was about the garden, or in the 
‘ piggery ’ they had built behind the shrubs. He 
was always busy, so busy, a business that resulted 
in clever sketches, scraps of verse, a song, some 
figure in wax or clay, which was the model of a 
great statue that he was always too busy to begin, 
just as his sketches were the ideas for big pictures 
he had never time to finish. Every one, of course, 
acknowledged his genius, admired these very 


UGLY IDOL 


31 


clever beginnings, and waited for that something 
very great which was to make him famous. 

Every now and then, there were excursions on 
the lake, up the mountains, or butterfly hunts. 
On these occasions, Clothilde selected a spot for 
lunch, and stayed to boil kettles and so on; Mrs. 
Yorke, fresh, fair, indolent, graced the meal, the 
only cool, ornamental person present. She was 
always as cool and sparkling as iced-champagne; 
an indispensable element in parties of this kind. 

On one of these hunts, they had settled down 
under the shade of the trees, only Mr. Strode as 
usual out in the sun. Clothilde, tired with her 
exertions, sat well in the shade, the green of the 
wood giving her white face, pensive, almost sad, 
an odd ghostliness. Mr. Yorke was busy turning 
over the contents of his box, Mrs. Yorke, lolling 
in a little arm-chair of moss, was busy talking 
nonsense with Mr. Strode, and Gilbert was dis- 
cussing a serious question with Agatha. 

‘ Oh, he is a nice enough man, a soldier,’ Mrs. 
Yorke was saying; ‘one of these men who is all 
moustache and who spends his life combing it. 
He is dreadfully attached to his wife. ’ 

‘ Don’t you want anything to eat, you people ? ’ 
called Yorke, waving a tin. ‘ Do you exist alto- 
gether on sunshine. Strode.^ ’ 

Or you on scientific muck ? Believe me, your 
dirty complexion is due to grubbing in horrid 
earthy holes. ’ 

‘Knowledge,’ began Yorke sententiously. 

* Knowledge ! Eruption of an over-cultured 


32 


UGLY IDOL 


mind. Pimples one’s healthiness of thought, 
and one’s visage. ’ 

They laughed. Gilbert and Agatha paid no 
attention to this conversation. Gilbert was saying : 
‘ I like the blue ones. ’ 

* I like the white ones. They are like little 
ships,’ Agatha replied. 

^ No, the blue ones are like flakes of sky, 
dropped down, don’t you see.? Only it ’s a pity 
to kill them. Suppose we let them go.? ’ 

‘ Oh no, I get a penny for twelve. ’ 

‘Well, Piggie, that’s beastly of you. You 
wouldn’t care to be pinned to a board.’ 

This thought brought tears to Agatha’s eyes. 

‘ Do you really like the blue ones best.? ’ 

‘ Oh yes. ’ 

‘ Then so do I, ’ she whispered softly, preferring 
to have her ideas guided by some one else. 

‘ Look, ’ shouted Gilbert suddenly. ‘ Come on, 
Piggie, hurry up, there ’s a beauty, ever so big! ’ 
He bounded away with an irrelevant desire to 
catch it, even though he would let it free the 
minute it was in his net. Mr. Strode looked up 
and laughed. 

‘ So! chasing a blue butterfly! You are be- 
ginning early, boy, and may you catch it. One 
does not generally catch a papillon bleu. ’ 

‘ Oh I don’t know, don’t be so dreadfully 
melancholy; there are some people who come up 
to their ideals. ’ 

‘ Really ! I never meet them. ’ 

‘ One knows that you are a proverbial chaser of 


ideals ; but do you mean to say you never caught 
one ? ’ 

At that he only laughed. 

‘Quite happy without them/ he murmured. 
‘Catch it, Gilbert. Lookout, boy, don’t let him go.’ 

The blue butterfly sailed away. It fluttered 
tranquilly out of reach over the hill. Adieu, 
adieu, petit papillan bleu ! 

‘ I ’ll give you all mine,’ said Gilbert disap- 
pointed, and Agatha for a long time treasured a 
boxful of blue butterflies ; and he, he had given 
his away, and the other had flown off. He was 
still chasing it. 

Later, Agatha showed a tendency towards 
religion, which generally grew stronger after some 
quarrel with her governess, and which was apt to 
wane when more interesting matters claimed her 
attention. Her father was an Atheist who, after 
the fashion of his kind, thrust his theories under 
all noses, regardless that the smell thereof was 
distasteful to many nostrils. Her mother toler- 
ated complacently a Roman Catholic French 
nurse, and a Protestant English governess, being 
too indolent to dispense with either until her 
husband should discover this mixture of creeds. 
Agatha, who generally inclined towards her nurse’s 
religion, invariably adopted it in opposition to 
her governess at times of war. 

She went one afternoon in a strongly Roman 
Catholic frame of mind, to recount the history of 
a recent battle, and to be consoled by Gilbert. 

‘ Hullo ! ’ he said. 


34 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ I got out at the window, Miss Gray locked me 
in. It does n’t matter. Father never minds what 
I do with her. ’ 

She stood silent a while, watching him as he 
mended the rabbit coop. 

‘ Do you believe in God.^ ’ she asked abruptly. 

He had not thought about the matter at all, so 
answered promptly : 

‘ Yes. ’ 

‘ I don’t. I believe in the Virgin Mary. She 
is ever so pretty, and she has got lots of tapers 
lighted under her.’ 

‘It must be awfully hot,’ said Gilbert with 
boyish profanity. 

‘ It ’s only her picture, and anyway that ’s very 
wicked. You should do a penance, you should 
“venerate” her. That ’s what you always do to 
the Virgin. ’ 

Gilbert, with his hat tilted back, looked as if 
the conversation were not much to his taste, but 
still he smiled as usual. Agatha flung her fair 
plait over her shoulder; an action that generally 
prefaced some request. 

‘ Bertie, I wish you would paint me a nice little 
Virgin, like Jeannette’s, to hang on the wall.’ 

‘ Humph. ’ 

Agatha put her arm through his, and rubbed 
her head against his shoulder. In this way she 
always conquered him, it made him feel particu- 
larly masculine and big. 

‘ All right then. Biggie, ’ he said good-naturedly, 
pulling her hair affectionately. 


UGLY IDOL 


35 


They went to the studio, where he rummaged 
among his father’s paint-boxes, swept impeding 
sketches off a small easel, and with many flour- 
ishes, said he was ready. 

‘ It ’s very difficult,’ he remarked, determined 
to get his full meed of praise. 

‘ I know, but you can do it. You will be an 
awfully great painter some day, won’t you.^^ ’ 

^Oh, yes.’ 

'Then, I ’ll marry you.’ 

This was a new idea to Gilbert, and he thought 
over it a long time in silence. Then he laughed 
and the sound floated pleasantly through the 
house. 

' All right, I don’t mind, ’ he said at last. ' And 
you’d marry me even if I wasn’t a very great 
artist, wouldn’t you.^ ’ 

‘Oh no,’ she answered without th-e faintest 
hesitation. ‘ Just think, Bertie, how lovely it 
must be to be really great! ’ and she narrowed 
her eyes, dreaming of Fairyland thrones and 
cloth of gold. 

‘ But if, ’ said Gilbert, almost in a whisper, ‘ if 
I were as great as father.? ’ 

‘ Oh, you would have to be ever so much more 
renowned than that,’ she replied emphatically. 

Gilbert laid down his brush and walked to the 
window. 

‘ Bertie, you haven’t finished it!’ 

‘ Are n’t you going to finish it .? ’ 

‘ Bert-i-e ! ’ 

Gilbert stood still at the window, looking out 


UGLY IDOL 


36 

upon his father who lay on the lawn, intent upon 
something he held in his hands. Agatha wept, 
and the sound recalled Gilbert at once. 

‘ I am awfully sorry, only I don’t think you 
are very nice. I ’ll go home. ’ 

‘ No, you won’t,’ he said quickly. ‘ Not'^until 
you have begged his — my pardon. ’ 

Agatha was a little afraid of him, and also very 
fond of him, and she very much wanted her 
Virgin, so she fell on her knees and begged 
pardon very prettily. 

‘ Get up, ’ he said regally, with gratified pride 
and returning affection. ‘ I ’ll forgive you, and 
you may hold the palette. ’ 

He remembered all these little things after- 
wards, and tried to feel the warmth of that 
glowing sun again. But that was impossible, he 
only saw it shining far away. 

And this sun seemed to have shone in winter 
also ; then too, as in summer, one was happy and 
busy. 

Brush, brush fell the flakes of snow against the 
window-panes for some days, and outside every- 
thing was gray and cold. Inside the wood-fires 
roared up the chimney, and the flames were re- 
flected in the polished floors. Gradually the 
world grew whiter and whiter, and a great silence 
reigned round about. Everything slept under 
this fleecy blanket, and the stillness of slumber 
lay on the motionless trees, and the wide white 
lawn. Sometimes a breath of wind sent a little 
shiver through the branches that creaked with 


UGLY IDOL 


37 


the weight of snow on them. Drip, drip fell the 
drops off the end of the water-spouts, yet such a 
silence there was at the Campagne in winter. 

‘ The angels moult, ’ said Jeannette, looking out 
on the courtyard, where Spahi gambolled wildly 
as dogs will in snow. 

‘ Dieit ! Qic il fait froid, le vilain temps. ’ 

Then the sun shone again, the sky was blue, 
and a layer of powdered jewels lay on the top of 
everything. The world was gay, garmented all 
over with its very best winter coat, radiant, iri- 
descent in honor of its greatest fete, Christmas, 
and the Jotir de Va7i. 

How red Philomene’s stockings looked as she 
clattered about, singing and talking merrily. How 
blue Henri’s blouse, as he swept the gates clear. 

Then one drove into town, jingle-jangle behind 
the bells of the sleigh. There, every one went 
about with big baskets full of packets, laughed, 
whistled and sang. The diligences seemed gayer 
than ever, their bright green and yellow covers 
glaring in the sun, going and coming with a great 
rollicking of horses and blowing of horns. In the 
market-place was a forest of fir-trees, ranging in 
height from a few inches to several feet, and all 
the little peasants trudged round-eyed d, la foire. 

At the Campagne there was an exchanging of 
presents, a continual murmur of people talking 
and laughing and exclaiming. Gilbert’s voice, 
uplifted above all others, was audible all day 
long. On New Year’s Day the French took their 
holiday, and the servants were feasted, and Philo- 


38 


UGLY IDOL 


mene and Josephine came with tears in their 
eyes, Henri with a ponderous Swiss grin, Jean- 
nette with frowning emotion to thank Monsieur 
and Madame for their kindness. Mr. Strode 
would not have it spoilt by the presence of any 
English servant. 

Gilbert enjoyed these simple things; but then 
he was just so high, small enough to smell the 
scent of flowers, to feel the poetry of things, to 
have the soul to enjoy them. 

Then the Yorkes went away. Agatha appeared 
very sad at the parting, and told Gilbert that she 
still kept her blue butterflies. He smiled with a 
tear in his eye, and told her that she was a little 
idiot to care so much about them. Mr. Strode 
felt it also, and drove away with them to the 
station to see them off. Clothilde stood on the 
door-step, watching the departing carriage, a 
smile on her lips, a pucker in her brow. 

* Good-bye! Good-bye!’ shouted Mr. Strode, 
waving his hat to the pleasant little companion 
of so many summer days. 

‘ Good-bye, good-bye! ’ cried Gilbert to the fair 
tear-stained face swollen with grief that leant 
from the window of the train. 

After this, the sun shone less brightly. The 
anxious frown grew on Clothilde’s face, and Gil- 
bert often heard bursts of anger from his father. 

^ Get away, you confounded little pest, ’ was 
said to him once or twice, when he approached 
with his usual flow of conversation, confident of 
receiving a quizzical attention. 


UGLY IDOL 


39 


Then one day, he found Jeannette with a more 
than ordinary fierce frown, clearing out his 
drawers, and asking what of all this rubbish he 
wished to keep. 

' Mais oni, certainly, you are going away, and 
you cannot take all these messes with you. Eh ! 
Don’t talk to me, voj/ 07 ts, how should I know 
anything? You must ask of Madame where you 
are going. ’ 

There ensued a turmoil ; Mr. Strode went away 
by himself in too great a hurry at the last moment 
to catch his train to say good-bye to any one. 
All the boxes were packed, every one was very 
busy, and Gilbert was wanted nowhere. He 
wandered solitary, desolate through the rooms 
where each little year of his life had fled so 
happily, fled, fled. . . . Men came into the house 
to value this and that, pictures and books were 
heaped in piles, carpets rolled up, furniture 
huddled into forlorn groups about the hall and 
passages. Sack and straw lay about the sunny, 
bright lawn, everything was being sold and 
carted away. 

Then one said good-bye to the orchards and 
gardens, to the big tree on the lawn, whose red 
leaves fluttered down like tears it seemed to 
Gilbert. One was embraced for five minutes by 
Jeannette, and caught a last glimpse of her well- 
known white cap and frowning brow. One spent 
half an hour with Henri, leaving instructions 
about the dogs. Philomene and Henri listened 
in sniftering silence. At last one drove out at 


40 


UGLY IDOL 


the iron gate, and Henri, and every one waved 
hats and handkerchiefs to the sad occupants of 
the carriage. One had a last glance at the white 
house, still sleeping as ever, in the sunshine. 

‘ Adieu ! adieu ! ’ 

The gates clanged behind them. 

Good-bye, good-bye, chere Campagne Saleve. 
Adieu ! adieu ! petit papillon bleu / 


CHAPTER III 


Gilbert was sent to school, and after a term or 
two, enjoyed it very much; but when he went 
home for his holidays it was to a London lodging- 
house. 

‘ Well, Gilbert, my boy ! ’ cried his radiant 
father. ‘ Your mother is not able to meet you. 
We are house-hunting, and she is away on that 
errand just now. We want a nice little house; ’ 
and for a while they lived on Clothilde’s money, 
which came to her at the opportune death of her 
mother. 

But unhappily it did not cover Mr. Strode’s 
requirements, and he said to his wife, ‘ Never 
mind, Henry — little ass — has the property now. 
You are his only heir, and after you, Gilbert, of 
course. You forget these things,’ he added a 
little testily. ‘ You magnify our difficulties ab- 
surdly, you should look into the future.’ 

He always looked into the future; he ran 
through the whole of to-day so as to arrive at 
to-morrow more quickly, and when to-morrow 
was cloudy, he saw the sunshine of many years 
ahead shining on the other side of it. He was 
annoyed at his wife’s shortness of vision, and he 
was himself so happy that he could see no reason 


42 


UGLY IDOL 


for her melancholy. Clothilde listened in silence, 
and forbore to say that it might be long, very 
long, before her brother’s property would become 
theirs. He was of the kind that live long. 

Gilbert spent another term at school, and then 
did not go at all, for Mr. Strode would not send 
him to a day school as his mother wished. It 
could not be thought of : Gilbert must have 
masters, or stay at home, and he, Mr. Strode, 
would teach him. A boy of his talent could not 
be spoilt at a bad school. So Gilbert stayed at 
home, and learned many things that are not 
generally taught ; but also his Latin and Greek 
were considerably better than the ordinary, for 
his father’s knowledge penetrated more or less 
into all things, and his intimate acquaintance with 
languages, classic and otherwise, was remarkable. 

‘ Dearest,’ said his wife, ‘ the child must go to 
school, you forget his age. In some ways he is 
very backward, and he will find himself dis- 
qualified for the ordinary business of life. No,’ 
she added hastily, ‘ we cannot afford masters. If 
you would only sketch and paint for sale! Take 
a studio and work 1 ’ 

In answer to that, he shrugged his shoulders, 
and smiling, said that he could not possibly paint 
unless the mood took him; he could not tie him- 
self down to make a livelihood by one thing. 
Bah 1 impossible. He could manage the money 
if she would only let him. ‘ She wasted in her 
housekeeping fearfully,’ he cried, bursting into 
rage; ‘when he wanted to buy that exquisite 


alabaster vase, she had absolutely not a penny in 
the house ! ’ 

Then a cold compelled him to stay indoors, and 
he gave Gilbert lessons when the mood took him, 
but mostly taught him to paint. He pictured the 
future that lay before them, how he would do this, 
or Gilbert that ; he drew the attractions of artist 
life, — an idle pleasure to pass the idle hours that 
he spent on the sofa, the tips of his fingers gently 
poised against each other, his imagination at play. 
It was, as usual, a busy idleness. And Gilbert 
listened, absorbed these tasty morsels, cuddled in 
his good but perverted memory these visions of 
coming greatness, — and forgot arithmetic. It is 
not a thing one should forget, arithmetic : one 
lives by it. 

Then a great event happened to Gilbert, he 
began to think. Hitherto, he had not thought 
at all, he had only reflected his father. Now be 
meditated, and fell to wondering why this father 
was still so young and buoyant, his mother so old 
and careworn. He had never observed the details ^ 
of his daily life, and now they came upon him 
with a rush, grinning, grimacing ugly realities, 
and he could not get rid of them. They were the 
more horrid because, with his dreamer’s eye only 
half open, he saw them distorted. He wondered 
how it was that they had come to be so poor, and 
he gazed disgusted on his shabby surroundings — 
so shabby to his half-open eye. Why had his 
father’s manifold talent brought them neither 
fame nor fortune.? What made it difficult.? He 


44 


UGLY IDOL 


suddenly thought that he led a lazy life, and 
began to contemplate selling some sketches, and 
he dropped his lashes and dreamt about it, about 
studying in Rome, perhaps, or else in Paris, work- 
ing hard, delightful work ; and the gradual success 
that he would earn by patient toil, for above all 
things he would like to earn and win his laurels 
hardly. Then, he and his father, then, then. . . . 
Yes, he dropped his lashes, and dreamt about it. 

He began to make advances to his mother, 
awoke to her personality. She did not repulse 
him, but she received him quietly: one could 
hardly have told whether she loved him or not. 

Then his soul was fired by the news of Lester’s 
early success. At twenty-five Lester was making 
a name for himself, that odd, unnoticed brother 
of Theresa. He, also, began a picture in real 
earnest, a great big thing that was to be his first 
step after Lester. It seemed so easy, one painted 
one’s picture, had it exhibited, and the thing was 
done. Things, when you put them that way, are 
all very simple. 

How was it, then, that his father had not suc- 
ceeded 

For some time Mr. Strode had been daily en- 
gaged in the city, and he seemed to find his 
business there both interesting and exciting. He 
was angry with Clothilde for not taking more 
interest in his projects; her pale resigned face 
angered him. The thin hand laid in remon- 
strance on his sleeve enraged him. So it happened 
that he was duped in some transaction, and they 


UGLY IDOL 


45 


moved into lodgings again; cheap, common 
lodgings; but Clothilde, with the last fragment of 
her money, a little hidden store, managed to buy 
a house in Penton Street. 

And then her energy, long worn to a very thin 
thread, snapped quietly. 

There was not much furniture in the room, and 
Gilbert had to sit on the bed, for there was no 
chair. It rained outside, and the houses over the 
way were grayer than usual. Yes, it was very 
gray, out there ; a thick, dark sky brooded over 
the tops of the houses, seeming to dip in heavy 
folds between the chimney-pots like an ill- 
stretched canopy. Everything was wrapped in 
impenetrable silence, such as reigns in the dull 
parts of noisy cities, only far away a man shouted, 

* Cy-o-als ! ’ at regular intervals down the empty 
street. Suddenly Campagne Saleve came before 
him, all glowing with sunshine. He saw the 
laughing group upon the steps, and Jeannette was 
singing somewhere : 

‘ Mais, vous n’aurez pas Pier-re, 

Tron, tron, tron, tron, bri, bri, bri, bri-6 ’ 

‘ Cy-oals ! ’ shouted the man, a little nearer. 

‘ At least you will have a roof over you,’ mur- 
mured his mother. ‘Take care of him, my boy . . .’ 

There was surely something wrong about it all 
— this dismal room, that dismal street, this silent 
end to a silent life. Gilbert was silent also, for 
his passions were not of the kind that blaze and 
flare upon the top. 


46 


UGLY IDOL 


So the shadowy figure of his mother receded 
altogether into the shade, and although she had 
been a background to the scenes of his life, yet 
she left a blank that remained. She had had a 
strong restraining influence upon his nature, 
though no one knew it ; he felt it, and missed it 
when she was no longer there. But the impression 
she had made remained, and time did not wear it 
away. He knew more of her ten years after than 
he did just then. 

At the death of his wife Mr. Strode became very 
ill. He came home at night very excited; he 
rushed to his wife’s room and flung open the door, 
beginning to speak before he was well inside, and, 
reaching the bed, fell headlong down beside it, 
shaking the floor with the heaviness of his fall. 
Henry overcame his dislike to Mr. Strode on this 
occasion, his pride not allowing that his only sis- 
ter should be buried meanly; and accordingly a 
grand, sombre funeral was given her. Her son 
and brother walked behind an over-decorated 
hearse, and listened as the earth closed over her 
with a dull thud. 

‘ I don’t know whether you are as much of a 
fool as your father, ’ snarled Henry to his nephew. 

^ But you are at least her son. Any decent debts 
I shall pay. You will have to be frank with me, 
and it will depend upon circumstances what I 
pay, and how. Don’t think you can count upon 
me for all and sundry. I ’m not rich. Try to 
marry a nice girl, one at least that is pretty and 
not vulgar. ’ He made an expressive gesture that 


UGLY IDOL 


47 


was lost on Gilbert. * I have nothing to do with 
your father’s affairs, remember that,’ and he 
departed. 

Gilbert had listened heedlessly. * Old beast ! ’ 
he thought, without much warmth, and he also 
went away sadly. He nursed his father with a love 
that overcomes all obstacles, and little by little 
Mr. Strode recovered. Gilbert, of course, was 
not accustomed to think of everything, and even 
Martha’s presence did not prevent an accumula- 
tion of bills that lengthened his face afterwards. 
In these two months he learned a great deal. 

Mr. Strode arose with silvered hair, tottering 
legs, and bent back. ‘ Be all right next week, ’ 
he said with a radiant smile. 

He had now to manage his affairs himself, for, 
of course, Martha could not be allowed to do so. 
It angered him greatly to find how dependent he 
had been on Clothilde. It was really very hard 
that he, no longer as strong as formerly, should 
be forced to do all these menial duties for himself. 
He flew into a violent passion when bill-time 
came, for hitherto he had had nothing to do with 
the paying of things. He had only bought what 
he wanted. He went out almost every afternoon 
by himself. He took his umbrella, and would 
not have Gilbert’s assistance. ‘ I am not in my 
second childhood yet, and I am likely to know 
more about the streets of London than you do, ’ 
he said testily, when Gilbert demurred at his going 
alone. He paused at the corner of the street to see 
that he was not followed. His son gazed after his 


48 


UGLY IDOL 


tottering form from the window, helplessly. One 
day he went out as usual, and Gilbert sat down 
calmly beside the fire to wait for him. The early 
winter twilight closed in, and still he sat beside 
the fire, and Mr. Strode had not come back. 
Every sound in the street caught his ear. * Some- 
thing has happened at last,’ he told himself 
drearily, and listened and listened until he lost 
all sense of the proportion of sounds, and started 
nervously at the dropping of a cinder on the 
hearth. At last his father came back, not a whit 
the worse for his outing, a semblance of his old, 
happy smile on his face as he entered. 

'Well, ’ he said, bursting as usual into the 
middle of his subject, ‘ you are to begin next week.’ 

‘ The Life School ^ ’ asked Gilbert, perplexed. 
He had been thinking on the subject of his career 
for some time, making up his mind on certain 
points before he broached his plans to his father, 
which he intended to do this very evening. This 
was opportune. 

' Life School.^ Damn the boy! does he think 
he ’s going to a Life School when his father is 
dying of starvation for want of immediate money.? 
What a selfish thing youth is — it thinks of nothing 
but itself 1 Those ideas of yours, Gilbert, about 
a studio, and goodness knows all what, are all very 
fine for you, sir, for you, ’ he stuttered, flying in 
defence of himself from anger to rage. ‘ You 
think the nice future of twenty years hence that 
you have been building for yourself will be here 
to-morrow, and you forget — you choose to forget. 


UGLY IDOL 


49 


perhaps — that there is an actual present to be 
lived through — that I am penniless, that I may 
even be reduced to dying of starvation — I ! ' and 
he drew himself up, a tall, broad-shouldered man 
yet. It did seem absurd that he, above all others, 
should die such a death. Next moment he 
shrank again into a bowed old man, and wan- 
dered restlessly about the room. 

Gilbert listened. He was taller, though less 
broad, than his father. He pulled himself up to 
the extreme height of his long, lank figure, and 
his face was obscured by the dimness above the 
lamp shade. 

His father paused before him irresolutely, and 
as they stood thus the common little room seemed 
too small for their silence. The idol of his heart, 
cherished very carefully for so long, but sometime 
tottering, fell of a sudden, and in the chaotic con- 
fusion caused by this shattering Gilbert lost con- 
sciousness of his surroundings, and stood erect in 
silence, numbed by the greatness of his emotion. 
He hid his fists in his pockets, and the veins 
swelled on his brow. 

Presently he asked dully, ‘ What is it that I am 
to begin next week?’ 

His father sat down in the rickety arm-chair by 
the fireside, smiling genially. 

‘ Ah, now, that ’s right ! I knew you would see 
the reason of it. You always were your father’s 
own son, were n’t you, old boy? I ’ve got a splen- 
did place for you in Stanley’s office — languages 
required, you know. You will get as good a 
4 


50 


UGLY IDOL 


chance as any young fellow in your shoes can 
expect. It’s not like some little clerk’s place, a 
thing one need be ashamed of ; oh, no, not at all ! 
I saw some really nice young men there to- 
day, and I think you need companions. Paid 
monthly, too ! Not much, to be sure, to begin 
with, but we shall have it to fall back upon, — we 
will not starve yet a while. Poor Tegart-Hoare is 
really very obliging in spite of his wife.’ 

Gilbert listened without moving, and Mr. Strode 
rambled on. He must really start work again, 
now that he was better he must astonish the 
wretches who had dropped him, and from whom 
he had fallen proudly asunder, with a specimen 
of the true worth of his talent. He had a splendid 
idea, but the subject would require to be treated 
on a large canvas. He would see about it to- 
morrow. 

Gilbert left the room abruptly, and tore out 
into the streets seeking refuge in their glare and 
rattle. Nothing in the crowd repulsed him ; these 
loud laughs did not smite his ear rudely, the 
hot odors of gas and cookery, of many people 
crowded in small places, did not nauseate him. 
He mingled with this Saturday night’s crowd, 
elbow to elbow he hurried along with a creature 
from whom he would have fled in daylight ; 
on, on, in this turmoil of a laughing, smoking, 
cursing crowd ; on, on, through the muck of the 
gutters. . . . 

He came home in the early morning with the 
fragments of the fallen idol swept away out of 


UGLY IDOL 


5 


sight ; no doubt in some seldom searched corner 
of his heart they were stored and treasured. The 
intense passion roused last night slumbered again, 
and the boy in him also. 

In the evening of his first day at the office, he 
went to see Theresa. Mr. Strode never visited 
these old friends, and Gilbert went there partly 
in secret ; his father seemed jealous of Lester, 
and had moreover a strange fear of being 
patronized by his former friends. This prickly 
pride was very absurd ; no one had ever thought 
of patronizing Mr. Strode. 

Gilbert had not seen Theresa since his mother 
died, and he could not very well have told what 
sent him to her now. He did not wish for 
sympathy or confidence, so he told himself, and 
he had not that longing that lighter natures have 
for an audience to his sorrow. But in truth he 
went to be scolded, to be pinched into a little 
warmth by Theresa’s straightforward utterances. 

She was alone, and jumped up briskly on see- 
ing him. She was no better-looking now than 
she had been when she was young: an odd 
wizened little creature, like the shrivelled kernel 
of a nut, with a nervous habit of grimacing, and 
an astonishing manner of issuing outrageous sen- 
timents unvarnished by any delicacy of speech. 
Her mind and tongue and limbs seemed to wag 
in obedience to a string pulled by some one else 
inside. She, in fact, catapulted all she said, and 
what she did not catapult she pop-gunned. 

She received him, however, without remark, for 


52 


UGLY IDOL 


sympathy between such friends is expressed by 
silence rather than words. 

Gilbert was a little stiff. 

‘ We have moved into Penton Street,’ he began. 
‘ Father seems pretty well. You will be glad to 
hear that I have found a permanent employment.’ 

‘That sounds like a phrase you have been 
learning to say. I think you are too old now to 
repeat your lessons to me. Sit down in this chair 
and tell me about it properly.’ 

‘ I ’ he began and stuck again. 

Theresa fidgeted impatiently, and he hurried 
on with awkward flippancy. 

‘ Listen, Theresa,’ he said, ‘ and rejoice. I have 
got a place in Stanley’s, you know — swell place.’ 

Presently he turned round to construe her 
silence. 

‘Who is the perpetrator of that?’ 

‘ It ’s a very good post. I — my father is 
delighted.’ 

‘ Really ! ’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘ But I thought you were going to take up 
illustrating, and I have been to Herison about 
it, and he said he thought your work was un- 
necessarily good. You are not going to give it 
up ! After all — and you were so eager about it, 
besides it would pay.’ 

‘Stanley’s is a certainty ’ 

‘ But begin by illustrating out of hours.’ 

He hesitated. Illustrating was to him almost 
as nauseating as the office; he had had such 


UGLY IDOL 


53 


very great ambitions, art had seemed such a very 
exquisite mistress, so far removed from pencil 
and paper and toil in Penton Street. ‘ It has 
become impossible,’ he growled, his head in his 
hand. 

‘ Well,’ Theresa sighed, ‘ I suppose you know. 
Only it seems such a waste of good talents. If 
you could only sell them to some one who would 
make better use of them.’ 

' The unfortunate person would make a bad 
investment ’ 

‘We are wandering from the subject.’ 

Suddenly, the coldness and bareness of his 
present life came over him. Theresa was his 
only friend, and he did not see very much of her, 
and feeling that he was not of the society that 
frequented her house, he sneaked there secretly, 
at times when he knew she would be alone. His 
father had dropped from his old surroundings as 
effectually as a dead man, and in as short a time. 
Gilbert had not spoken to any one, it seemed to 
him, for months. No one cared either. . . . 
Somehow, this great room with its bright fire, 
and Theresa grimacing more than usual in the 
fitful light of it, moved him strangely. But then, 
oddly enough, Theresa was a person who drew 
confidences from others; her servants came to 
her with sad histories, to be consoled ; Lester, of 
course, depended on her entirely, and Gilbert 
could not remember the secret he had from her. 

So he tumbled to his knees beside her. 

‘Theresa! Traddles! Say something, do talk 


54 


UGLY IDOL 


to me ! No, — don’t mention it again — don’t make 
it any harder — I hate this beast of an office — I 
tell you I ’ve been nearly mad — don’t rub me up 
or I shall go all over it again — I ’ 

. . . Theresa hung a wet handkerchief over her 
knee to dry at the fire. She was talking prosily. 

‘ I meet Lawrence Tegart-Hoare, the artist one, 
he comes here in fact. But the other, who is 
connected with the Stanleys, is tied to a Salvation 
Army dame now, I believe, one of these people 
all prickly with virtue, that goad other people — 
like me — to la-has. That sensational agony- 
column kind of religion always upsets me. I am 
afraid you will see a good deal of it.’ 

So he did in the coming six years, for Mr. 
Strode had reasons for keeping on very friendly 
terms with the rich brother of the artist whom he 
had known. 

Mr. Strode went often to this big house in 
West Kensington, and Gilbert wondered to see 
him in an atmosphere so utterly uncongenial to 
his nature. Gilbert himself did not find it very 
entertaining. He came and went, came and went, 
to and from the office, week after week, month 
after month, and life became to him the dreary 
routine it is to most people. All serious thought 
of art died out or was crusted over. Mr. Strode 
himself seemed to have forgotten it, and never 
touched canvas or brushes. On the contrary, he 
had taken his place in an art-hating circle of 
society, and was as charming as ever in this new 
atmosphere of busy charity and mission-rooms. 


UGLY IDOL 


55 


In the evenings Gilbert came home and wrote 
at extra work he got so as to have a continual 
supply of ready money for Mr. Strode to spend 
on his little occupations. After all, thought the 
son, few men with shattered health and broken 
fortune would lead such a happy, busy life, would 
find so much for his idle hands to do. Or, other 
evenings, he laughed, talked, and read aloud, and 
sometimes Martha saw them with their heads 
close together under the common white lamp, 
playing like children at a comedy they concocted, 
which was acted by absurd figures that Mr. 
Strode’s deft fingers modelled out of wax. These 
figures, in the process of melting, collapsed into 
suggestive attitudes, and with his faculty of doing 
everything of this kind, Mr. Strode immediately 
struck off appropriate rhymes, which were some- 
times so good that Gilbert wrote them down 
in a book. On these occasions he sat on late 
into the night writing or wasting time with his 
head on the table, for it took a year or two for 
that detestable office, that stool to which he was 
tied for life, to become simply an unheeded every- 
day matter. Then Saturday afternoon or Sun- 
day were so often spent at the Tegart-Hoare’s ; at 
first amusing enough, then wearisome, and then 
disgusting. 

‘Well, my boy, we will go there to-morrow 
afternoon,’ his father would say. 

Gilbert did not answer for fully five minutes, 
and put on a certain expression that did not be- 
come him. He was at no time handsome ; a very 


56 


UGLY IDOL 


long lank man, with the thin white face ol one 
who lives much indoors. A cold taciturn face 
which ordinarily changed very little in speaking, 
and to which the conventional smile of politeness 
added no charm. His eyes were melancholy, in- 
tensely so, but he peered through his glasses in 
the unbecoming manner common to short-sighted 
people and the beauty of eye was not evident in 
the rapid glance one throws at a man of this 
personal appearance. 

‘ I do not very much care for the Tegart-Hoares ; 
is it necessary to go so often? ’ he said at last. 

^ They are amusing, and besides useful. You 
must learn business, Gilbert, you must know 
people for policy’s sake sometimes,’ Mr. Strode 
nodded his head cunningly. ‘ Tegart-Hoare is nice 
enough, and he still has a spice of worldliness left 
in him that turns up when his wife is not by. 
Ella is a charming, straightforward girl.’ 

Gilbert opened his eyes wide at that, but gave 
in of course, for it never occured to him to oppose 
his father. 

Only, one Saturday, returning from the office 
early, it suddenly seemed to him that this life was 
unutterably dreary, to have lasted for years, an 
unbroken gray monotone. The thought of that 
house in West Kensington sent a shiver down his 
back, and he paused irresolutely. He was shoved 
off the pavement by a gay rude crowd that was 
fighting for entrance at the pit-door of a music- 
hall. Looking up, he found that he had passed 
the place often, and with a sudden gleam of 


UGLY IDOL 


57 


vicious joy, he flung himself into the crowd fight- 
ing with the best of them for a place. He enjoyed 
himself very much. 

But, when he went home, in one room there 
was a weeping and helpless Martha, in another 
his father, on the verge of illness with rage, 
shaking with unrestrained passion. In the evening 
he vowed that he would never do it again, and 
sighed, for theatre-going, from the vagrant show 
to the Lyceum, was much to his heart. 

His life was not, perhaps, very entertaining, 
since he did not find much diversion at the house 
of the Tegart-Hoares. This was a fine place, 
richly furnished in such solid manner as is appro- 
priate to people who eschew the frivolities of life, 
and are somewhat bulky in material being. 
The drawing-room was a large, handsome room, 
decorated with palms and a magnificent mantel- 
piece that caught the eye at once. A smell of 
pews hung about it by reason of spare chairs and 
Bibles being stored in a cupboard there. 

Something ominous about this room struck 
Gilbert the first day he entered it, and he never, 
even when it became familiar, got rid of the 
feeling. It was sombre, an atmosphere of in- 
digestible richness pervaded it that cast its heavy 
spell upon the entering stranger. 

Then Mrs. Tegart-Hoare sailed in, with a hand 
extended in courteous welcome. 

^ So sorry to have kept you waiting. I am so 
busy and I am sure you will not object, when 
you know that I work in a good cause. Is this 


58 


UGLY IDOL 


Gilbert? He is surely the age of my John. Ah 
yes ! I have heard very good reports of him from 
my husband.’ 

She gazed at Mr. Strode a little suspiciously, 
knowing that he had been an artist and hence 
very wicked when young. Her husband had 
ventured to point out that his old friend would 
make excellent material for converting, and in this 
spirit of charity, she received the Strodes without 
further demur. 

Her suspicion, however, soon transferred itself 
to Gilbert, although, she thought, he really looked 
very respectable and gentlemanly : for Mr. Strode 
had evidently quite reformed since his youth, 
and he bowed and smiled, and sat down beside 
her with that appearance of being so extremely 
interested that came to him in talking with any 
stranger. 

‘ Ah, I have often heard of your works,’ he 
said. 

‘When one sees the degradation, the savagery 
of these poor people in the streets, one is moved 
to make an effort to redeem them.’ 

Mr. Strode was sympathetic ; he inquired after 
her numerous charities, her prize-givings, her 
meetings, was, in fact, so very charming, so de- 
lightfully attentive, that Mrs. Tegart-Hoare spoke 
even more on the subject than was her habit in 
ordinary conversation. 

Gilbert sat opposite, a little amused, a little 
astonished, and observant. She was a person- 
able woman, big, plain, majestic, with an odd and 


UGLY IDOL 


59 


almost childlike simplicity on her face that showed 
she was no hypocrite. She believed all she 
preached, every word of it, with a faith that made 
her sermons quite eloquent. She had found the 
narrow way, she said, when she stood up, stout, 
imposing, in the Mission House. She exhorted 
all present to follow her, — she paused earnestly, 
with her eyes upturned to the ceiling, her mouth 
where she left it in pronouncing the last word. 
This would have been more convincing if her big 
teeth had not caught one’s attention ; as it was, 
one felt ashamed of the suspicion that the narrow 
way was constructed by herself on an improved 
nineteenth century model. It would, Gilbert 
pondered once, be difficult to follow her there ; it 
was narrow, and she filled its space herself 

As Gilbert sat opposite her, he wondered why 
he vaguely suspected her, what it was about her 
good, simple face that he distrusted. 

‘ Yes,’ Mr. Strode was saying with a smile, ‘ A 
beautiful book, I agree with you. Have you read 
Renan’s Vie de Jhus? ’ 

Gilbert gazed in astonishment, his father was 
surely taking her off! 

‘ No,’ she answered. ‘ But I read, with great 

appreciation, by Moncure Conway. It did 

one good, it seemed to lift one up into ’ 

Mr. Strode turned his head away, and glanced 
across at his son very oddly. 

‘ Indeed ! You read freethinking books 
then ? ’ 

Mrs.Tegart-Hoare’s teeth gleamed wide asunder. 


6o 


UGLY IDOL 


severed by astonishment, and her lips receded like 
retreating waves, leaving bare and unlovely ex- 
panse of gum. 

* Freethinking? oh dear me no ! I read those 
religious books for instruction, for knowledge, of 
course, — but ’ 

Such was her simplicity of faith, that she read 
her own creed in books of quite opposite senti- 
ment; read aloud to her husband in pointed 
unction things that under another name would 
have caused her teeth to gnash in horror. 

She was really a simple woman. 

At this somewhat awkward moment, the door 
was hurled open, and Ella tumbled in, laughing 
loudly. A school-boyish giggle was audible out- 
side, and Ella shouted, ‘ O Frank, you horrid 
boy, I ’ll pay you out ! ’ with a boisterous tom- 
boyishness unbecoming to her years, for she was 
twenty-two. 

‘ Ella-h ! ’ exclaimed her mother feebly. 

‘ Oh, I did n’t see any one was there,’ said the 
good-natured elephant, not at all put out, and 
she laughed again and sat down to talk to 
Gilbert. 

At first sight she was rather entertaining. She 
had no lack of conversation about subjects new 
to him then, and her odd jumble of religious 
phraseology and school slang was amusing. 

‘ Oh, the boys are awful fun ! We have a lot 
of them, and make them carpenters and all that. 
Many of them hear the name of the Lord for the 
first time when they come to us. But they really 


UGLY IDOL 


6i 


get an idea of religion and goodness in a very 
short time. We have them all scrubbed at a 
tank. We then teach them hymns. Oh, no ! 
they tore the Bible to pieces. It was dreadful, 
but I read them fairy tales, and they were quite 
good. The women are more difficult to reform, — 
they cheat, you know, for the Christmas packets ; 
but we managed it by tickets. No, not mother; 
it is one of my aunts, who is very High Church, 
who does all that.’ 

Then she said that she painted texts and 
religious things for her aunt. Would he like to 
see them? He said yes, and she romped to the 
door with her usual energy, upsetting a little table 
on her course. 

‘ Ella-h ! ’ exclaimed her mother vaguely, and 
from force of habit, without turning to see what 
had happened. 

She led the way to a little carved wood back- 
stairs, traversing a wide landing, whence one saw 
the huge wall of the staircase covered with pictures 
and valuable prints. 

* Ah ! ’ said Gilbert, with awaking interest. 

‘ Hogarth’s.’ 

‘Hogarth’s?’ Ella turned an unresponsive 
brown eye upon the wall. ‘ I dare say, some of 
papa’s old collections. Oh, those water-colors 
are n’t Hogarth’s, I know, because they are Uncle 
Lawrence’s.’ 

Gilbert gazed at her in stupefaction at this, 
but before he had time to reply some one 
coming upstairs laughed and remarked slowly. 


62 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ Ella, as usual, displaying her ignorance with 
flying colors.’ 

This was Mr. Tegart-Hoare, a lean, lazy man, 
whose fear of death in the first place, and want of 
resistance in the second, had drawn him from a 
worldly life into his present religious surroundings. 
He was a shadow of his wife, always there, never 
particularly evident. She was his regulator in all 
matters — it saved trouble. He simply took care 
to see that her coffee-houses kept themselves, and 
that the mission-rooms did not exceed the sum 
he allowed for them. But she was a very good 
manager. Her charities, somehow, seldom cost 
her very much. 

He passed on, after a word or two, and went 
into the drawing-room. 

As Gilbert followed Ella down a passage they 
passed another shadow, a small, haggard creature 
in old carpet slippers. This, she explained, was 
her eldest brother, who had been very ill. Her 
mother had made him a clergyman, had written 
his sermons for him, and had urged him to learn 
them off by heart, which had resulted in brain 
fever. Her second brother seldom lived at home, 
for he whistled shocking tunes about the house and 
could not be tolerated, and he consequently lived 
in other circles, but Mrs. Tegart-Hoare, being so 
busy and wrapped up in her ‘good’ works, had 
no time to inquire what circles he frequented, nor 
how he managed to slip through his allowance 
so quickly. Ella loved her school-boy brother, 
who would have liked religion well enough had he 


UGLY IDOL 


63 


been allowed to play the big drum, but as this 
instrument did not figure in his mother’s meetings, 
he found it rather dull. Ella chattered all this 
to Gilbert, showed him her painting-room, her 
little texts and cards, and he listened inattentively. 
He did not care for her; he conceived her to 
be big, coarse, stupid, and his dislike of her was 
nameless. It arose from the sensitiveness that 
Penton Street, the walk to the office, his intro- 
spective life had fostered into a nettle-y growth 
that stung him at every turn. He hurt only 
himself, however. It is, of course, better to hurt 
others. ... 

Theresa and her brother had been away from 
town a year or two, and Gilbert missed them very 
much. He went joyfully to see her as soon as he 
heard of their return, but the drawing-room was 
crowded, for others also ran to see Lester. He 
was a very great man nowadays. He was a re- 
cluse, and therefore it was the highest aim of 
one’s life to say that one had been to his house, 
and one ran with all one’s might to be the first 
inside his door when he came to town. But a 
great many people went to see Theresa, rather 
than her brother, for Lester was seldom visible. 

Gilbert crept in shyly, and sat down unnoticed 
in a corner, afraid to stand lest his height should 
attract attention. It seemed to him so long since 
he had been anywhere but in that sombre house 
at West Kensington, and this laughing, and talk- 
ing, and cultured flippancy, this apparent light- 
heartedness, light and dainty as dandelion fluff, 


64 


UGLY IDOL 


struck him and stirred him strangely. He knew 
that it was an exterior quality only, but he had 
lived in the midst of it when he was a boy, and 
the very smell of it raised a longing in him that 
was painful. He tingled in response to things 
that were said around him, and much was said, 
for every one talked, talked, talked, just the talk 
to which he liked to listen — bright, effervescent, 
sometimes clever, always entertaining. Success ! 
Success ! was written on almost every face ; the 
ample egotism of it shone in almost every eye, 
and he felt that he had no business there. But 
why should he not realize his old dreams — begin 
at the bottom and work upwards as others did, to 
carry this triumph of overcome obstacles in his 
eye also.? There was yet plenty of time — oh! 
plenty of time. Why not enjoy life, live in the 
sunshine, and succeed ? 

^ Live, eat, and drink, for to-morrow you die, — 
yes, take the drink you like best, a thimbleful 
only, or a tumblerful if you can; drink, drink] 
for to-morrow it will not matter. If you love the 
sunshine, live in the sunshine, for who pities the 
idiot who shuts it out because some one at his 
side prefers the dark? Do what you want ; push 
along in the scramble and shout for joy, stamping 
on the toes of others ; drink a big drink of what 
you like best, for to-morrow it will not matter.’ 
He thought all that with the unnecessary bitter- 
ness of very young people. Then he remembered 
the burden of debts, the common little home 
in Benton Street, and he left Theresa’s with a 


UGLY IDOL 


65 


hanging head. But he found her company in- 
vigorating, the air of his home unbearable with- 
out some break, and he went to her again. 

‘ Why did you sneak away on Friday.^ ’ 

‘ I was obliged to go. ’ 

‘ Because you have a morbid idea that clerks 
at Stanley’s have no place in our circle.? I don’t 
choose my friends by the pattern of their coats. ’ 

‘ I prefer not to come, don’t you see ’ 

‘ Gilbert, I see the influence of the Tegart- 
Hoares upon you. ’ 

He laughed, and described that household to 
her. He could be amusing enough when taken 
off his guard. 

‘ How dreadful to be burdened with a soul that 
requires such an amount of looking after ! ’ she 
exclaimed when he finished. 

‘ As bad as having a Toy-Yorkshire. ’ 

Gilbert noticed that she was unusually nervous 
and irritable, that she looked very tired and very 
old. She talked to him irrelevantly and with 
unnecessary vigor, and she did not seem con- 
scious of his silence. His grunts, his gestures, 
and certain manipulation of his glasses, gave as 
much impression of conversation as the ordinary 
chatter of other people. She turned her eyes 
continually to the door, and seemed to be listening 
for some distant sound. Noticing this, and con- 
cluding that he was not wanted, he rose to go, 
but she detained him with a quick movement of 
her hand. 

^ Lester has finished a picture, I really think his 
5 


66 


UGLY IDOL 


masterpiece this time. He has been working very 
hard, in order to finish Mrs. Studleigh by the 
twelfth. And he has set his heart on frescoes for 
the ante-room,’ she said. ‘ I know you like his 
work. Wait till he leaves the studio, I will show 
it to you. We have had such a bother about the 
frame, ’ she broke off and looked harassed. 

‘ He always succeeds, ’ Gilbert murmured. 

‘Yes,’ she said proudly. ‘No one has yet 
accused him of failure. Only I am afraid that 
he is verging towards the boundaries of eccen- 
tricity. His ideas run away with him.’ 

‘ Ah ! ’ remarked Gilbert vacuously, an intro- 
spective gleam in his eyes. ‘ And does he think 
that he has never failed.? ’ 

‘ I don’t know, he never speaks about it, he 
seems to lose all interest in anything accom- 
plished. He simply begins again. It will be 
viewed next Friday, and you must come for once, 
— yes, really. You have never seen Lester chez 
hd^ ’ and she glanced up again proudly. 

At this moment the door opened, and Lester 
ran in. 

Theresa looked up with a bright loving smile 
that shed a pleasing remembrance of youth over 
her face. There is a great charm, a something 
that tickles one’s soul kindly, in the sight of 
such a beauty on a plain face. One remembers 
that there are other things besides red lips and 
long eyelashes. 

‘ Mary Leighs has not come yet, ’ she began ; 
but he looked at her unseeing for a moment with 


UGLY IDOL 67 

his dreamy eyes, and a little smile hovered round 
his mouth. 

‘ Finished.?’ 

'Yes, come, and see,’ he said quickly, and 
throwing his arm round her neck, led her off. 

The ante-chamber to the studio was crowded 
with scraps of embroidery, rugs, curtains, dresses, 
weapons, and all those things, that Lester, how- 
ever, seldom used for painting from ; but the 
studio itself was a bare place, containing only 
what was necessary, with a couch or two for visi- 
tors. Near the window stood the newly finished 
picture on its easel, and Lester ran to it excitedly, 
and waited impatiently for them to comment upon 
it. Not that it mattered to him whether the 
rest of the world cared for his work or no. The 
picture was finished, and ceased to interest him, 
but he wanted to be praised. And the more 
people that praised him the better; he liked to 
see a roomful of people paying homage to him, to 
him! He seldom spoke on the subject of art, 
never established theories, never defended himself 
when attacked ; but he disliked those who attacked 
him, for it seemed to him that they were rude, and 
interfered with his pleasure. No one could quite 
tell what Lester thought about anything, or 
whether he did think. What did it matter .? He 
was a great genius, his art was wonderful, his 
personality nothing. 

Gilbert gazed at the picture, and a warm glow 
of admiration crept all over him. Theresa stood 
beside him, also in silence, for there was nothing 


68 


UGLY IDOL 


to say. It had, as usual, Lester’s power of driving 
criticism from the mind of the spectator. A charm 
hung over his work, so that one could not say this 
foreshortening is wrong, that impossible, the light 
wrongly centred, or the tints opaque. No, one 
looked at them and marvelled and thought. The 
spirit of his idea was upon them, and one forgot 
they were done in paint, on canvas. 

‘ Well,’ said Lester a little crossly. 

Gilbert jumped, and remembered that he was 
expected to admire. 

' Very fine, — magnificent ! ’ he remarked dryly, 
with a cold smile at his effort to praise; absurd 
of Lester to expect it. ‘ More than magnificent, 
it ’s ’ 

A little gratified smile crossed Lester’s lips 
quickly, but he waited for more. 

Then they looked at the picture again. 

It was Genevra locked in the chest. The box 
was bisected so that one saw her inside. The 
background was a dark-grayish brown, and the 
light came in from the old, started seams. Genevra 
knelt, looking straight from the picture, and her 
hands seemed to be seeking up the edges of the 
frame, aimlessly seeking for some spring to let 
her out. But she knew that she would have to 
die there, and the horror of it grew in her eyes as 
one looked at her. A most unutterable despair, 
an irrevocable doom emanated from the face of 
this simple figure of a girl. 

Music had raised this feeling before in Gilbert, 
but never a picture; and this was odd, for it had 


UGLY IDOL 


69 


none of the searching, enervating, nervous passion 
of music ; on the contrary, it was cold. That was 
its striking fault, or quality, it was cold. It was 
horrifying, but not convincing. 

Gilbert mumbled some more commonplace 
phrases, the usual things that one always says, 
and Lester listened, an angry frown growing on 
his face. He fidgeted before the picture, and 
suddenly cried, ^ It is a failure! ’ and began to 
run up and down excitedly. 

‘ Lester I ’ exclaimed Theresa in amazement, 
for she had never heard him say this before. She 
had never heard him make any noticeable com- 
ment upon a finished picture. 

He was a thin, little man ; his fair, pointed face 
was not remarkable for expression, and it seemed 
impossible that he should contain in his small 
body the terrific passion that burst from him at 
times in volcanic explosions. It was always there, 
underneath, and it seemed to vibrate through him 
as air passing over strings sets them a-quiver : it 
thrilled in the under-tones of his voice, it gleamed 
at the back of his eye, and to shake hands with 
him was like taking hold of the handle of a 
battery. He was not conceited, for one could 
not put a word to his faults or virtues, but he 
demanded — unconsciously — the admiration of 
every one, and he got it ; he had but to look with 
his fascinating eye, and people did what it asked 
of them — unconsciously. 

‘ It is a failure, ’ he cried, raking the hair from 
his brow with nervous fingers. 


70 


UGLY IDOL 


^ Nonsense ! ’ said Theresa sharply and very 
prosaically. ' You have been working too hard the 
last week or two : leave it alone for a while. You 
will find it is all right, after a little. ’ 

It was her business in life to be prosaic. She 
was, she said, the lump of lead at the other end. 

‘ What is the matter with it ? ’ Lester went on, 

‘ Why should I fail .? I ! ’ 

The passion grew in his eyes, and burst upon 
him, coming as some outside element, sweeping 
him along in its course as wind sends withered 
leaves scudding before its might. 

‘ Despair is the most subtle of expressions. I 
take it because it is interesting; it has so many 
phases, it is such a sad thing, complex and simple 
all at once. It should be miserable, puny, should 
show the miserableness of life. She should be 
miserable — Genevra — in that box where she is 
going to die. She should be in utter despair. 
Love, hatred, scorn, they are all so easy, — who 
cannot do that.? A smile, a frown, — pah! so 
easy; but despair! it is subtle, — a contorted 
muscle does not give it, it does not frown, it does 
not laugh, it looks, it looks ! But why cannot I 
see it .? Why can / not lay my hand on it .? 
See,’ he cried, with the childlike simplicity of 
speech that was his peculiarity. ‘ Look at her, 
— she is as far from the thing as that panel! 
Why can I not do it, why have I failed.? It is 
a failure ! ’ he shouted in his fury, and seizing 
a big brush, he swept all the paint from the 
palette with it, and daubed out the face, the 


UGLY IDOL 


71 

face that no one else in the world would have 
found any fault with. 

Yes, he daubed it out; stamping with rage he 
covered the canvas with motley streaks of paint. 
He demolished it, he would tear it to bits, this 
thing that defied him, — he would tear it to bits. 

Theresa caught him by the hand and turned 
him away. 

‘ Lester ! Lester ! leave it now ! ’ she said. 

For a moment he stood gazing vacantly, quiv- 
ering with his exertion. Then a smile grew 
and grew upon his face, and his eyes began to 
sparkle. He threw his arms round her neck. 

‘I must begin again,’ he whispered. ‘ It is 
impossible not to succeed a second time. I will 
begin again.’ 

‘ Yes, begin again, of course you will succeed, 
— only come away just now, it is getting dark,’ 
she answered, caressing him and gazing at him, 
a great love beaming from her wizened face. 

Gilbert thought that it was difficult to tell 
which of them was most beautiful ; he, wrapt in 
the ecstasy of his genius, or she in the adoration 
of this brother. Gilbert also bent his head in 
admiration of him, yet .there was nothing to 
admire in Lester : a little weakly man, emotional, 
amiable, very simple in ordinary 1 ife. His genius 
was a thing he obeyed implicitly, it led him away, 
away, and he followed where it took him. 

He was not responsible for the actions of his 
genius. 


CHAPTER IV 


Gilbert lived rather an odd life, with Theresa’s 
house upon the one hand, and the Tegart-Hoares 
upon the other. He found they did not mix 
very well, but he could not resist visiting Theresa, 
this breezy person revived him like the sweet air 
of the sea. Also, household matters weighed 
heavily upon him. He hated money and business, 
had been brought up to do so, and now he found 
himself face to face with those little tiresome, 
intractable figures, those jumping eights and 
nines, that fret the youth out of a man as the 
most subtle bacillus. Mr. Strode in forgetful 
moments would do things without telling his 
son of them, and unexpected bills cropped up 
that caused Gilbert to pull long faces over his 
quarterly accounts. Mr. Strode, in fact, had 
relapsed into his old habit of buying what he 
wanted, and leaving all other money concerns to 
those around him. Sometimes, when Gilbert 
hesitated to answer his demands, he flew into 
abuse of their poverty, and expended his anger 
upon the nearest recipient, as a rule, his son. 
And then Gilbert, thinking of his enforced idle- 
ness, his trying life, for, if it were dull for 
himself, what must it be to his father whose 


UGLY IDOL 


73 


earlier life had been wrapped in luxury and 
pleasure, — gave in, and made up by extra work 
in the evenings. As he rose in the office, he 
made more of course, but then more went. 

So they pottered on drearily, and that house 
in West Kensington grew wearisome, and more 
wearisome. Sundry things, too, disturbed Gil- 
bert’s rest. Mr. Strode had taken to going down 
to Tegart-Hoare’s study, and his son, remembering 
what had gone before, feared Stock Exchange 
and speculations. Only, Tegart-Hoare was a 
gentleman and disinterested, too shrewd a man 
to lead either himself or his friends into a scrape. 
Perhaps, Gilbert tried to think, he was a good 
friend for his father. Then, when Mr. Strode 
disappeared, he left his son in company with 
Ella — it was always Ella. And Gilbert was 
conscious of being taken possession of gently by 
Mrs. Tegart-Hoare. He was pressed into all 
kinds of services, asked to help here, to help 
there, to hand Bibles at meetings, to be generally 
useful. She wished to convert him, to lead him 
unconsciously to be one of them ; because the 
simple soul wished to save him from the gay 
and flippant life his father had led; wished, 
she said, pressing his knee affectionately, that 
he would take the place of her own lost son. 
She lent him books to read, and it seemed as if 
he were fast becoming one of the obedient 
shadows that surrounded her. He submitted, 
for his father’s sake, and waited to see where it 
was all leading to. He hated it, it disgusted him. 


74 


UGLY IDOL 


and once, when sitting tete-d,-tete with Ella in 
the drawing-room, he quite suddenly made up his 
mind to leave the house there and then. His 
father was occupied as usual downstairs in the 
study, and he simply said that he had an en- 
gagement to keep, and must go away. Ella’s 
face fell. 

‘Must you really she asked with sincere regret. 

He answered yes, but as Mrs. Tegart-Hoare had 
a strange habit of pervading her house when at 
home, he met her on the stair and was stopped. 

‘ Your father is still here,’ she said. 

' I am really afraid I must keep my appoint- 
ment. ’ 

* You will come and hang up those texts before 
you go } ’ 

‘ I really have n’t a moment ’ 

‘ But if you wait, I will take you with me in 
the carriage and drop you. ’ 

She retreated into her chin, well pleased with 
the prospect of a conversation with him. The 
fear of such an event drove Gilbert to ultimate 
measures. 

‘Very sorry,’ he murmured, bolted past her 
down the stairs and was gone, before any one 
had time to stop him. The eldest son, emerging 
quietly from the dining-room, caught a glimpse 
of his flying figure and followed it with a half- 
shocked, half-longing eye. Ella was astonished, 
her mother gasped for a moment or two, then a 
dental convulsion brought her jaws together, and 
she murmured, ‘ Poor dear boy ! ’ 


UGLY IDOL 


75 


Gilbert hurried off, afraid of pursuit, and did 
not feel easy until the underground had taken 
him a good distance away. His impulsive nature 
was still trying to work its own way under the 
coat of calmness which circumstances had thrust 
upon him, and it still sometimes got the better of 
him. The fire is the most dangerous that works 
inwards. It was only that over-sensitiveness and 
foolishness about him that made him passively 
submit to be led a way he did not wish to go, 
to be shoved into a compartment of life he did 
not wish to inhabit. Then he sat down in 
lonely melancholy and wondered at his sadness 
and dreariness. Inveterate muddler ; if one yet 
gave him a choice, he would do what his father 
wanted of him. 

This afternoon, he went straight from the 
Tegart-Hoares to Theresa’s. 

He found some people there, but slipped so 
quietly into the room, that no one noticed that he 
had not been there all the time. He listened 
amusedly to the conversation, catching stray 
words from different groups, much impressed with 
the aimless, mirthless laughs that threaded the 
buzz of voices. It was necessary to look unutter- 
ably pleased at everything that was said ; and it 
seemed to him that a person near him trimmed 
her smiles according to her bonnet, which was of 
a very bright and disconcerting pink. 

* Have you seen — (laugh) — the newest one- 
man-show.^’ — (laugh). / 

' No ’ — (laugh, laugh). 


76 


UGLY IDOL 


^ Most extraordinary. Very flat and wanting in 
tone to my mind, but one is fearfully behind the 
times if one is surprised at artists’ vagaries now. 
I always know when a thing looks frightfully out- 
of-drawing that it is the one to praise’ (laugh). 

Then some one else became audible to him, an 
emphatic, uplifted voice. 

^ Oh, but you are too hard, the world must have 
something to gaze at, and the half of existence 
that isn’t the world has to provide it, or else where 
should we be, and what would we landjn.? ’ 

‘ Knickerbockers ! ’ squealed an ecstatic girl 
caught in the midst of an eulogy on rational 
dress (laugh — laugh). 

‘I don’t quite understand,’ said a soft voice 
that struck familiarly on his ear. It sent a tingle 
through him and brought a vivid picture back to 
his memory. He raised himself in his chair ; yes, 
Mrs. Yorke was sitting over there, not much 
changed by the fifteen years that had passed 
since he last saw her. The same indolent, 
smiling trifler. There was no reason why she 
should look older, for she had been carried 
through life very carefully by other people. 

He sank back dreamily, remembering many 
things he had forgotten, seeing the sunshine of 
La Campagne Saleve shining far away. 

‘You will be a very great artist some day, 
Bertie.’ He started up as this echo of a voice, 
also forgotten, seemed to sound so closely to him. 
A woman was sweeping her skirts over his out- 
stretched foot, and was saying ‘ Beg pardon. ’ He 


UGLY IDOL 


77 


rose with a smile to apologize, and she paused in 
turning, to look at him, a harassed endeavor to 
recognize him in her eyes. 

* Gilbert.? ’ 

‘ Ah ! Then you remember me .? ’ he mumbled 
idiotically. 

‘ Of course, or rather your smile,’ and she 
showed no disposition to go away. 

He almost laughed to remember how com- 
pletely he had forgotten Agatha, how glad he 
was to become aware of her existence again. 
He was astonished at the flood of conversation 
that came so readily to his lips, at the pleasure 
with which he listened to her as she recounted 
simply the story of her life since they had parted. 
She recalled to his mind this and that, laughing 
a little, sadly, longingly, scrutinizing with her 
restless eyes while she talked, all that passed 
before her. 

‘ And do you remember the great future we 
predicted for you.?’ A mirthless smile lighted 
her lip for a moment. ‘ I have been expecting 
to hear of you. ’ 

He stiffened. ‘ Instead, it is Lester you have 
heard of, ’ he growled. 

A sudden gleam came into her eyes. ‘ Lester.? 
yes, ’ and she appeared to think. 

He watched her, and it seemed to him that she 
was very beautiful. Oh, something cried within 
him, very beautiful. She was extremely fair; it 
impressed him the more, as Ella displayed an 
abundance of color. His eye travelled over her 


78 


UGLY IDOL 


masses of light hair that looked white under the 
black brim of her hat ; her white oval face with 
its drooping brows, its wide mouth ; her big pale 
eyes that wandered with an uneasy harassment 
over the people and articles in the room. There 
was a narrowness about her brow, a troubled 
melancholy in those never-still eyes, a suggestion 
of passion about her altogether that is seen some- 
times in these very fair women. He conceived 
her in her fairness to be very beautiful. 

‘ We laughed at him when he was a boy,’ she 
said meditatively. ‘ And now he is so famous ! ’ 

‘ Lester .J* Yes.’ He went on to speak about 
him, and was charmed at the interest she took 
in all he said, and there was something so 
sympathetic in her close attention, that he drifted 
away from Lester, and, led by her little questions, 
spoke of himself. 

^ I ! ’ he began ; ^ oh ! I have been doing 
nothing. ’ 

This nothing, however, took many minutes in 
the telling, and, as when long ago he lay on his 
back under the trees telling her sad stories, her 
eyes filled in response and her face reflected his 
expression. When he had finished there was a 
slight pause, then she said, with a touch of cold- 
ness. 

‘ But, with your talents, you might have ’ 

Well, of course, it was natural, that she, with 
her adoration of greatness and success, should 
feel a little scorn for a man who had fallen so 
short, so lamentably short of his promise. 


UGLY IDOL 


79 


At this moment a general stir and a quick 
migration to the door denoted the entrance of 
Lester. Agatha’s restless eyes were arrested, 
they gazed eagerly at him, at this great artist, 
this painter of wonderful pictures, this hero of 
many dreams. 

The little man stood alone, smiling to right and 
left, smiling very happily, for he saw a roomful 
of people bowing before him. He paused to talk 
to this person and that, and every one seemed to 
fall under the magnetism of his presence; every 
one seemed to find his simple remarks, his glances, 
his smiles, his gestures, very fascinating. Agatha 
was not disappointed apparently to find him so 
small, so fair; on the contrary, his power, his 
genius seemed only the greater; it seemed most 
marvellously great by contrast. 

This little man, inoffensive creature enough, 
whose pointed face drooped under the pressure 
of ill-health, and whom one would pass by with 
a sniff in the street, had yet such a way with his 
brush that decided the fate of a woman’s life. 

One crowded round him with trivial compli- 
ments. They had all seen his last series of 
studies ; how did he manage his combination of 
realism and idealism.^ His touch refined every- 
thing — wonderful, magnificent ! Q/iife his best. 
How did he manage his gray monotones, his 
vivid effects of white light } So charming. 

Lester took it all in, and oddly enough it was 
sincere : to be thoroughly insincere to him was 
impossible, his simplicity prevented it. Yes, 


8o 


UGLY IDOL 


he took it all in, he looked with a pleased smile 
round about him, and he was the centre of attrac- 
tion. He seemed to like this. 

In looking about him his eye caught an earnest 
face turned in his direction, and he paused to 
observe it. He did not paint portraits, but a rare 
face here and there appealed to him for some 
quality, as a study of an unusual expression, and 
then he said, ‘ I must paint it. ’ He looked again, 
and Theresa saw a sudden glow of interest sparkle 
in his eyes; he saw plainly that this pale head 
was what he wanted for his Genevra. He accord- 
ingly walked straight across to Agatha and en- 
tered into conversation with her without delay, 
unconsciously watching her as she spoke. 

^ You were not here last Friday.^’ he began 
amiably. 

‘ Oh no. We have only just come home from 
abroad, and of course it is impossible that you 
should remember me. ’ 

He did not remember her, but he said with an 
engaging smile, his head a little on one side, 

‘ Really! have I known you before.*^ I hardly 
think it possible, for I could not have forgotten 
you ’ 

* It was long ago, ’ she murmured, confused by 
the steady gaze of his dark eyes. He looked at 
her with evident interest ; the confusion was be- 
coming to her. 

‘ It is pleasant to remake an old acquaintance,' 
he said gracefully; Wery pleasant,’ he added, 
and Agatha felt that his manner was fascinating. 


UGLY IDOL 


8r 


But he did not talk much, he stood by and 
listened. It was Gilbert, shaken out of his usual 
reticence, that seemed to find no lack of conver- 
sation. 

Then Mrs. Yorke rippled like a summer wave 
across the room. 

‘ I ought to be going,’ she said, sinking into a 
comfortable chair and buttoning a glove. 

‘ That ’s conscience,’ said Graham, a youthful 
prot^g^ of hers at the moment. ‘ It ’s a great ob- 
struction in the path of life. Now my “ ought,” 
if I have one ’ 

‘ Is a gobbling monster that eats the hundreds 
and tens and remains in open-mouthed solitude 
at the end of the quarter ! ’ 

‘ Ah, — exactly.’ 

‘ It ’s a convenient word,’ said Theresa ; ‘ it re- 
presents all the good one does n’t do.’ She cast a 
proprietary eye at Gilbert and added, ‘ You have 
rediscovered each other without my help, I see.’ 

*What?’ said Mrs. Yorke inquisitively, Gt 
can’t be Gilbert? I should never have known it! 

I am delighted to meet you I How is your father? 
Do tell me all you have been doing.’ 

Gilbert was embarrassed ; the odd happiness 
he had experienced that afternoon had been of 
quick birth and died as easily. He determined 
to escape at once, and he told himself bitterly 
that this was what came of visiting Theresa. 
How was he to own that his father was a broken 
old man living in Penton Street? 

Theresa divined his feelings from his relapse 
6 


82 


UGLY IDOL 


into awkwardness, and attracted Mrs. Yorke’s 
attention to something else. 

‘ My dear,’ said this lady when out of ear-shot, 
‘ I should never have known him if I had n’t met 
him here. So plain ! and he was such a charming 
boy ! He 's quite uninteresting ! ’ 

Theresa was pleased; she disliked Mrs. Yorke, 
and would have been inconsequently put out had 
she admired Gilbert. 

‘ Yes,’ she said, ‘ he is uninteresting, and a tall 
man distinctly needs something to take one’s 
attention off his trousers.’ 

Mrs. Yorke fluttered a little and was pleasantly 
shocked. ‘ He certainly has long legs,’ she re* 
marked mildly. 

Almost every one went away then, and Gilbert 
was again aware of that atmosphere of aimless 
laughing, but Theresa did not allow him to slip 
out quietly as had been his intention. 

‘ Do you know that you have only been here 
about an hour? ’ 

‘ It seems a long while, — but, I would rather go, 
— it gives me a false position.’ He blushed. 

‘A man’s social position is not cut and dried 
like a woman’s. Who is to know that you are not 
an impecunious young artist like Graham? ’ 

He shook his head. 

‘Then why do you come at all?’ she asked 
unreasonably. 

‘ I have no place else to go,’ he drew himself up 
and added quickly, ‘ that I care about particularly.’ 

And, yes, it was odd ; but it was at Theresa’s 


UGLY IDOL 


83 


house, through Theresa, or with her in the back- 
ground, that all the events of his life happened to 
him, and yet it was really not her fault. 

Gilbert looked back into the room and saw 
Agatha talking to Lester. He stayed. 

‘Ah! that is it! ’ Lester had just exclaimed, 
in answer apparently to a thought of his own. 
‘ You are going to live in London long? ’ 

‘ Yes, I think so. Some months anyway.’ 

‘You have travelled at all?’ he sat down 
beside her and his enticing little face was quite 
close, to hers, lit up with a wonderful smile. 

‘ Yes, we have done nothing but travel for 
years.’ 

‘ Ah ! the south ! Have you been to Algiers? 
Yes ? One lives there ! Every particle of air seems 
iridescent with color and heat! Life is deep- 
tinted there, very gorgeous. ... It is nice. Per- 
haps,’ he added, seeing lijttle reciprocation on her 
face, ‘ you did not care for it? ’ 

‘ No, it was too much. I wanted something 
restful, colder, grayer. Really I am not very fond 
of travelling, it gives one such a homeless vagrant 
feeling, one makes no lasting friendships you 
know. I do enjoy, I would enjoy a home life, 
where you settle down with well-known things 
all round you,’ she paused to see if Lester were 
inclined to agree with her. She suggested 
thoughts of her own, which easily gave way 
before the decisions of others. 

‘ How odd ! ’ exclaimed Gilbert, ‘ I would give 
anything to travel.’ 


84 


UGLY IDOL 


‘Yes — but a woman’s instincts are home- 
making, are n’t they? ’ 

‘ Why, hang it, I think you are wrong,’ said 
Graham, ‘ all the women I have ever known used 
home as a place to be away from.’ 

Agatha said no more; she dropped her light 
eyes and thought, or listened to the warm 
thrilling voice of Lester. Women generally 
listened to him, though he spoke low; there was 
that in his voice that attracts. 

Then Mrs. Yorke, having put on her other glove, 
and finding herself ‘ alone,’ told Agatha that she was 
really going, and impressed upon Gilbert that he 
must come and visit them, and, of course, Mr. 
Strode also. 

‘ It has been the very greatest pleasure to me 
to come here,’ said Agatha as she shook hands 
with Lester, and he, looking into her eyes, saw 
that she meant it This woman did something 
more than admire him; a gratified smile hovered 
round his lips. Somehow or another, he had 
never felt this pleasure in any one’s flattery, 
adulation, or admiration before. And she had 
a face that he must paint; her pale face, his 
intuitions told him, was the face capable of 
expressing that despair which had evaded 
his grasp; yes, yes, he trembled as he looked 
at her, he saw infinite possibilities in her light 
eyes. 

‘You will come again soon?’ he asked in his 
form of question that was always a command. 
‘ I have several sketches of Algiers and these 


UGLY IDOL 85 

places. Ana you will allow me some day to make 
a sketch or two of your head? ’ 

‘ Of me ! ’ she exclaimed astonished, and a flush 
of extreme joy mounted to her masses of fair 
hair. ‘ Is it possible that you find anything in 
me worth painting ! ’ 

‘ Paint Agatha! ’ cried Mrs. Yorke, turning in 
the doorway. ‘ Dear me, how charming! It ’s 
an honor we shall fully appreciate. But we 
really must go, it is getting so late and the doctor 
told me to avoid night-air. Did you bring my 
cloak, Agatha, and my veil? Do make haste, 
dear, I ’m shivering. ’ 

Agatha swept from the room to fetch her 
mother’s things, while this charming lady de- 
scended the stair, still attended by Graham. 

‘ Remember me to your father, Gilbert, and do 
look us up whenever you have time. ’ 

‘Yes, I hope you will come. I always used to 
visit you, it is your turn now to visit us, ’ Agatha 
herself had added gracefully. 

So every one went home, Mrs. Yorke tired and 
fretful, Agatha with a beaming eye; it had lost 
its restlessness; it had found something to look 
upon, to live upon. Gilbert went home as happily 
as possible. Poor eater of ice-cream, chaser of 
butterflies, why should he not be happy? 

‘ What is the pale woman’s name? ’ asked Lester 
of Theresa as they sat over the fire together. 

‘ Do you mean Agatha Yorke? ’ 

‘ Ah yes, that is it. Her face — did you notice 
it? It was just what I wanted.’ 


86 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ Yes, she is a good subject. There is some- 
thing ghostly, unfinished, and sad about her. No 
wonder, with that mother. ’ 

^ Yes — what I wanted,’ murmured Lester. 

' Very well, I will ask her here. I am afraid 
Mrs. Y orke will come too — and I do dislike her ; 
she is as delusive as a pomegranate. ’ 

‘ Oh, ’ said Lester. 

What did Theresa’s likes and dislikes matter 
to him as long as he had what he wanted ! Per- 
haps he did not realize that she had any. 

' The studio is in a dreadful mess, ’ she sighed 
presently. ‘Will you be working to-morrow.'* ’ 

‘ Yes. ’ 

‘ But it will do you no harm to put it off for a 
day and get the place cleaned. ’ 

‘No, I shall want the room to-morrow,’ he 
answered, unconscious that he caused her any 
inconvenience. 

And then he wanted her to sit closer beside 
him and read to him. So she put aside her work 
and read till he fell asleep. She gazed at him, 
his' fluffy hair spread out on the red cushion, and 
thought him very beautiful. He opened his eyes, 
caught her gaze, and a loving smile awoke in 
response. ‘ Go on, ’ he murmured, and this 
occurred until she was hoarse. 

His effect upon Agatha was strange and sudden. 
Her childhood, of course, had been very happy; 
she had lived in the world of ‘ Let’s pretend,’ 
which i^ a very happy place. Then, she admired 
fine clothes, great riches, big men and kings with 


UGLY IDOL 


87 


crowns and sceptres. All these things were very 
much to her, for her nature was deep, dramatic, 
narrow. Her narrowness of mind bound her 
about, and she did not always follow Gilbert in 
his wide flights of fancy. This narrowness is a 
quality, not a fault in woman; for some think it 
bends the forces of her nature with more energy 
in one direction ; she is not troubled with con- 
flicting passions, these spider-like ‘ instincts ’ and 
inquisitive doubts that run about the world spin- 
ning mischief; in her narrowness, her singleness, 
of mind she attaches her all, her passion, her love, 
in one place, to one being, one ideal. 

Of this kind is the Mary who watches at the 
foot of the Cross. 

But Agatha inevitably lost her kings and 
sceptres, and found nothing else to take their 
place. Her selfish little mother so careless, so 
happy, was not a person to replace these old 
dreams or foster new ones. Agatha was brought 
up to see life in a black coat and trousers, and 
it was not very lovely. So, she was an unhappy 
girl seeking for something she could not find, 
aware of a void that nothing filled. She travelled 
with her mother, here, there, all over the world ; 
but her simple, gentle nature found no interest in 
this various turmoil of peoples and lives; she 
wearied, actually, for quiet, for surroundings that 
did not change unceasingly, with this bewildering 
rapidity. Her father was a restless man, but partly 
travelled because his wife chafed at and tired of 
people and things she saw too much of. This 


88 


UGLY IDOL 


did not suit Agatha, who, like a creeper, would 
better have vegetated in one spot, and clung to a 
supporting wall, embracing it with tendrils. . . . 

She sought everywhere for this support and 
could not find it : she transported her old love of 
kings and sceptres to an intense adoration of great- 
ness and success. A man who had achieved 
something, had lifted himself above the level of 
the common herd, who stood before the eyes of 
the world on a pedestal of his own making, ap- 
pealed to her — her savagery perhaps. That never 
civilized little bit of nature that must have a 
wooden idol to worship, or one to demolish. 

Dear little idol, that one paints with one’s 
paints, studs with the jewels one likes best. Dear 
little ugly idol. 

In the midst of this, she saw for the first time 
a picture of Lester’s, and the minute she set eyes 
upon it, something said in her, ^ This is it. ’ She 
dreamt of this picture, and thought what manner 
of man it must be who had such a way with his 
brush. Yes, she looked at the thing, and thought 
of the man behind it. She did not idealize the 
picture, but she was ready to adore the man who 
had painted it. 

Then this afternoon she saw him, talked with > 
him, sat beside him, saw all her idealized fancies 
in his little face, saw the greatness of his work 
in his little physiognomy, and her restless eye 
paused stilly in the seeing of these things. 

Gilbert’s short-sighted eyes had become won- 
derfully wide awake and far-seeing also. Quite 


UGLY IDOL 


89 


suddenly this fair, very pure and exquisite woman 
had come into the precincts of his dingy, dreary 
life. She was thrown with exaggerated bright- 
ness against the dull background, so suddenly. 
He was a very warm-hearted man, and the 
hardness of fate had no power to hurt the kindli- 
ness of his soul. He blazed up at first contact 
with Agatha, and illuminated her with a light of 
his own making. 

Dear little idol. . . . 

Arriving at home, he received his father’s anger 
for the first time with indifference, with in fact 
a warm amiability on his face that astonished 
Martha. 

' Understand that it is not to happen again, — 
I won’t have this impertinent disobedience, con- 
founded impudence. Ella was quite upset, can’t 
insult the Hoares, most particular matter — great 

importance — besides ’ Mr. Strode ended 

in unheeded mumblings, and a good supper re- 
stored his equanimity. 

Afterwards Martha heard them laughing 
merrily, talking, laughing, laughing; they were 
great company to each other at times, father and 
son. But later Gilbert remembered that he had 
work to do, and sat down to it with a sigh. Pen 
did not write, blotting-paper was lost — pah ! this 
damnable poverty! His sudden glow of happi- 
ness faded as he thought of the long perspective 
of days at that detestable office that must pass 
before he could see her again. He tore up his 
paper in a rage and hurled it in the fire. 


90 


UGLY IDOL 


After that, he took another sheet and finished 
his work. He felt himself to be an unpicturesque, 
disappointing man, his little passions generally 
ended in the prosaically commonplace. 

Next Saturday he determined he would act on 
Mrs. Yorke’s invitation and go to see her. He 
had no business to and that was the charm of it. 

^Gilbert, where are you going.?’ asked his 
father, turning round with one of his canaries on 
his finger. 

Gilbert knew that the mention of Mrs. Yorke’s 
name would only upset his father, so he simply 
answered that he had made an appointment which 
he was going to keep. 

‘ You are always away from home now. You 
go out at least once a week, — tweet, tweet, 
pretty, pretty — without telling me where you 
are. I have a right to know where you go. I 
insist upon it. I might need you. I always do 
need you, besides how am I to know whether 
your friends are people I would approve of.? I 
can’t allow it, — most selfish of you. I can’t 
allow it, I tell you. Do you hear.? ’ 

Mr. Strode was becoming cross, much too cross. 
It frightened Gilbert, and for a moment or two 
after an outburst, a blankness settled on his 
face that was more alarming. This vagueness 
was there now, and he murmured that he had 
a headache. 

^ After all, ’ Gilbert thought, ‘ it will do another 
time, and he is not well to-day. ’ So he stayed at 
home, and did everything he could think of to 


UGLY IDOL 


91 


bring the smile back to his father’s face. And it 
was not long in coming, for Mr. Strode was the 
happiest person in the world, and his happiness 
was of the catching kind that infects others. 

This was very good of Gilbert perhaps, and he 
repented it the very next time Agatha’s face came 
before him, and haunted his dreams. Penton 
Street was murkier than it had ever been before, 
the office more detestable, the thought of the 
household in West Kensington unbearable. 

It resulted in his journey one afternoon straight 
from the office to the address Mrs. Yorke had 
given him. 

He found himself upon their doorstep, then in 
a hall that glowed warmly with red light, then in 
a drawing-room impregnated with Mrs. Yorke. 
There was lace and drapery and etchings every- 
where, china and grotesque things to relieve them. 
The chief ornament in the room was Mrs. Yorke 
herself of course, and as she came forward to 
welcome him he felt himself very big and ugly, 
suddenly realized that his coat was shabby, and 
heartily wished he had not come. 

‘ Delighted to see you, my dear boy. I am sure 
I am very glad you have come, for I was nearly 
asleep. It gets dark so early now. Agatha is 
out, shopping for me, I can’t go out in this 
weather myself. Let’s see. I am afraid the 
chairs are all small ; but perhaps you can double 
yourself up into this one. Graham generally uses 
it. Your father must be proud of these inches,’ 
and she patted him kindly on the arm, wanted to 


92 


UGLY IDOL 


know why his father had not come, and settled 
herself again in her deep chair comfortably. It 
was impossible to feel awkward long in her vicin- 
ity. There was scarcely a man, old or young, 
who was not enslaved by her charm, although, 
curiously enough, many women failed to perceive 
it. Gilbert marvelled at her youthfulness as he 
glanced across at her, a fair, soft, Persian kitten- 
ish creature, whose outward fur of conventionality 
saved her a great deal of trouble and thought. 

‘I think we might poke the fire,’ she said 
indolently. 

‘ Let us make a nice blaze and be cheerful. 
Now will you ring the bell, — three times, or that 
wretched Mary won’t bring up tea till some time 
to-morrow. What a serious person you are, 
Gilbert, do let me hear you laugh. Or are you 
shocked at my frivolity .J* ’ 

She pushed a footstool nearer the fire, and laid 
two little slippered feet upon it. 

‘ No, ’ said G ilbert with his eyes on the footstool. 
‘You used to laugh so much! Don’t you 
remember when you were supposed to see me 
home ? What an odd old-fashioned little cavalier 
you were. ’ 

‘ Yes,’ said Gilbert eagerly, ‘ I remember very 
well. And you do not look a day older. ’ 

‘ My dear boy, you have forgotten. ’ 

‘ No, ’ he said as he picked up her handkerchief, 

‘ I certainly have not. You are a bit of that sunny 
landscape, ’ he added to himself dreamily, keeping 
the soft, fine handkerchief between his fingers. 


UGLY IDOL 


93 


‘ You have not told me anything about your 
father, ’ she remarked, recalling him with a jerk to 
himself. He said that his father had very broken 
health, went out very little, had, he emphasized, 
entirely dropped his old circle of acquaintance. 
It was sad, he thought as he spoke, that his father 
had changed so much, fallen so far asunder from 
his old associations, that he had to excuse him 
to Mrs. Yorke. He, Gilbert, had no business 
there either, he had no place in her society, and 
she would soon find that out. He bitterly deter- 
mined that he would never go again. 

‘ What a pity, ’ said her trivial voice. ^ One 
must grow old some day, I suppose. You see 
how much I suffer now ! But your father was a 
sort of fairy prince : it is impossible to connect 
age with him. And — your mother ? Ah yes ! ’ 
she sighed; but at the same moment she smiled 
to herself; for that, at Campagne Saleve, had 
been one of the most amusing incidents in her 
life. 

A servant brought in a tea-table, and Agatha 
followed her, her hands full of parcels. Gilbert 
handed Mrs. Yorke her handkerchief, with a 
sudden awakening to the fact that it was still in 
his hand, angry that, having come to see Agatha, 
he had stayed talking with her mother, and had 
been enjoying it very much. She received it with 
a laugh ; anyway she had done better than sleep. 

^ Ah, here you are, just in time to pour out tea; 
but first you might go upstairs and fetch me my 
white shawl, or Mary can go.’ Mrs. Yorke had 


94 


UGLY 'IDOL 


a charming habit of keeping those about her 
running on her behalf. 

Agatha shook hands with Gilbert, and sat down 
at the table. Then they talked pleasantly about 
everything and nothing, and Gilbert was surprised 
to find himself chattering also. He listened to 
every tone of her voice, and watched the fire-light 
gleaming on her hair. 

‘ My dear,’ Mrs. Yorke was saying, ^ you don’t 
want to go to that horrid dog-show! Well, I 
can’t go, and you can’t go alone. Perhaps Theresa 
or Graham or Terryll or somebody is going.’ 

‘ I suppose you would not trust yourself to me, ’ 
murmured Gilbert. 

‘ Oh yes 1 capital idea, Agatha never will go to 
any place with Graham, ’ said her mother rising. 
It did not matter to her who her daughter went 
with so long as she had not to go herself. She 
left the room complaining of draughts. 

And now that he was left alone with Agatha, 
he suddenly relapsed into an awkward silence. 
His fascinated eye watched the fire-light leaping 
up on her pale face, illuminating for an instant the 
masses of blanc-cindre hair that nearly touched 
her eyebrows. Neither was she much inclined to 
talk. She accepted Gilbert as a sort of brother 
whom she had not seen for a long time, and she 
did not feel it necessary to talk politeness to 
him. There was a well-being on her face that 
had not been there when he last saw her; a com- 
plete, full womanhood there was about her that 
filled him with delight. 


UGLY IDOL 


95 

Presently she seemed to remember that he was 
there. 

‘ After all our great dreams, Gilbert, you ’ 

^ I am in Stanley’s. Yes, dreams are nothing. ' 

‘ But it is only temporary, I suppose. You 
have not given up all your old ideas completely ? ’ 

‘ Yes, ’ he answered grimly. ‘ I — have. ’ 

‘ What a pity, ’ she said softly, mentally con- 
trasting him, perhaps, with Lester. ‘ I am so 
sorry, for I always used to feel a sort of partner- 
ship in your doings. I looked forward to sharing 
the pride of your success.’ She laughed and 
looked across at him with her straightforward eyes. 

‘ She had felt a partnership in his doings, had 
looked forward to his success, ’ and he had done 
nothing. Perhaps she scorned him. 

' Agatha, if I begin again, now, if I really work, 
you know, I believe I could ’ 

‘ Oh, yes, begin again ; you are so young yet. 
And then — oh, yes — how can you waste yourself 
so at an office — haven’t you a spark of ambition ? ’ 

This was the same Agatha that had egged him 
on in his boyhood. 

‘ It would please you } ’ 

‘ Of course. ’ 

‘ You really take an interest in my welfare, 
still ? ’ 

‘ Of course, ’ she said again, looking at him in 
surprise. 

‘ I will do it, ’ he muttered, and Agatha felt 
pleased that she had roused him from his inaction. 

He went away full of mighty resolves. He 


96 


UGLY IDOL 


would leave Stanley’s ; he would continue his art 
training; he would illustrate, in the meantime; he 
would win her approbation, and then he would . . . 

He arrived home and found his father very 
angry. He retorted with a red streak of wrath 
across his forehead. A great many things were 
on the tip of his tongue. It seemed to him that 
he had never been so angry before, never had so 
much he wanted to say. He stood up straight, 
collecting his forces, about to hurl a vigorous, 
defying eloquence at his father’s head, to silence 
that babbling stream of childish ire. But he 
stopped suddenly as he saw an expression of fear 
growing on his father’s face, which quickly grew 
crimson with passion. He stopped and turned 
away — ah! he turned away. His softness was 
not equal to braving it out; all these unsaid 
things remained unsaid, and he turned away. 

Why, he pondered bitterly, had he come across 
Agatha ? Why had she in a moment roused him, 
seized his soul in her grasp, and held it so tightly ? 
He had accustomed himself to his life; it would 
have gone on and on, endurable. Then, quite 
suddenly, she came and upset it all, a little curi- 
ous push with her finger and she had knocked it 
all over. And it had been so difficult to build. 

He would never see her again; he must not 
allow himself to be drawn into that nonchalant, 
money-spending society. He was poor, poor, and 
poor people were not given happiness. Happi- 
ness was bought, like everything else; it was 
not given — nothing was given. 


UGLY IDOL 


97 


So he came and went, came and went again, 
to and from the office. He crumpled his brow 
over the wretched money affairs that were be- 
coming more and more entangled; he spent 
sombre hours with Ella, and worried over his 
father’s odd behavior. 

Oh, no ! it was better that he should not think 
of Agatha. She had really very little to do with 
him. 


7 


CHAPTER V 


Gilbert was with Theresa in the drawing-room. 
He turned his eager eyes always to the door, and 
was but faintly aware that she was talking. For 
him to be there on Saturday afternoons had 
become an institution ; for Agatha to be there on 
Saturday afternoons, sitting to Lester, was an- 
other institution, and it frequently happened that 
they left the house together; and Theresa, know- 
ing that Gilbert had few friends, endeavored to 
make the few hours he spent there every week 
as pleasant and home-like as possible. 

It seemed to him an unutterably long time 
since Agatha had disappeared behind that door. 
He heard a slight murmur of voices on the other 
side, and that angered him unreasonably. Why 
did she stay in there so long } 

Theresa was seated opposite him in an odd 
attitude, her skirt tucked up and rolled round her, 
and she was sewing with a thread that seemed to 
knot often. Every now and then she travelled 
round herself to sew another bit. 

' In unsophisticated days I envied the ancient 
Greeks, and longed for draperies that are tied on 
with a tape or two, but now I have come to 
the conclusion that it must be rather irksome to 


UGLY IDOL 


99 


travel through life holding on one’s clothes as 
they invariably do in pictures. I always want 
to know what happened when they let go, ’ she 
said. 

‘ I expect they were sewn somewhere,’ he 
answered vaguely, and his eye, returning from the 
door for a moment, fell upon a spot on his coat. 
It suddenly occurred to him that his coat was 
shabby; would Agatha notice it.? Of course. 
Shabby! that was the most sordid word in the 
language, and it meant so much, just as this little 
spot contained in itself a history — he scratched at 
it furtively, the horrid stain. He thought with a 
shiver that Graham was always well dressed, and 
then he violently determined that, at all events, 
that cad was not going to take her home, as had 
already happened, once or twice. He heard 
Theresa chattering on, but paid no attention, and 
hinted that it was tea-time, and that Agatha had 
been sitting very long and would be tired. 

She, however, did not look so. She was seated 
in a big chair on the platform, and Lester was mak- 
ing rapid sketches of her in different positions. 
She watched in wonder as he rubbed out his work 
with the duster again and again. 

‘ It is singular, ’ he said to himself. ‘ Perhaps 
— the other side. ’ 

‘ I wonder that you have chosen me to paint, ’ 
she murmured, ‘ for I have been told that I have 
very little expression. Do you find it so? ’ She 
lifted her eyes anxiously. 

* No, not at all; you have a face that answers 


lOO 


UGLY IDOL 


when it is appealed to. That is the difficulty, 
you change so often. ’ 

He turned abruptly and gazed at her so that 
she dropped her eyes again. Her face seemed to 
fascinate him, only it troubled him that she would 
not look as he wished her to look, and yet he 
knew that she could. He tried her with many 
expressions, but never roused that one of which 
he was in search. 

She was silent ; she seldom spoke much. Once 
already a whole afternoon had passed without her 
saying more than perhaps six words. It was so 
wonderful to sit up there, to be painted by him, 
to be the object of his regard, the sole subject of 
his thoughts, perhaps, at that moment ; to be the 
means, as his model, through which the greatness 
of his genius was made known to the world. She 
watched him working, in silence. She thought 
that he worked very hard, and her eye roamed over 
the easels with half-finished pictures on them. 

It might happen that some day he would 
realize the rich field he had to himself, for he 
could do with her what he liked, and she was 
all his. 

^ I think you are tired, ’ he said presently. 

‘ Come down for a moment and take a rest ; ’ he 
held up his hand to help her. 

‘ All these sketches, all that work, is for noth- 
ing, ’ she exclaimed, pointing to the studies that 
he had thrown aside. 

‘They will not do. You — what is it about 
you.^ You never look as I wish you to! Yet, 


UGLY IDOL 


lOI 


I am certain that you could. I know it. I am 
never mistaken. Look at me again. ’ 

She tried to keep her eyes steady, but they 
sank gradually, for she felt as though he were 
looking through her, through her at something 
beyond. Her face drooped as a withering lily on 
its stem as she stood before him, clearly defined 
against the big bare wall beyond. 

‘ What is it? What do you see.? ’ she asked 
tremblingly, a little frightened. 

"Yes!’ he cried. ‘ You beautiful! Now I 
see that you are beautiful, ’ and he gazed at her 
rapturously. 

A crimson blush grew over her face, but she 
answered, " No, no, you are making a mistake; 
it is only you who see me that way. ’ 

Only you ! a smile of pleasure trembled on her 
lips as she said it. 

He did not listen to her, he was buried in his 
own thoughts. Then he suddenly darted away 
to another subject; he showed her sketches and 
pictures. He talked descriptively of them, and 
kept his dark eyes upon her watchfully and dis- 
appointedly, but drinking in her praise with open 
ears. He sought for her to say something of 
each, waited for her comments; he had never 
been praised quite in this way by any one else, 
and it was very enjoyable. Undoubtedly her 
company afforded him a very great pleasure. 

" Yes, that is a study of grayness. You like it ? 
The sky here is often so gray; it broods over a 
big city and sees all its vices — all the filthiness 


102 


UGLY IDOL 


rises up and covers everything with its miserable 
grayness. Gray is the color of sadness, — you, — 
yes, — you are like a spirit of sadness, — like this, 
— see, — your hair should be looser,’ — his own 
nervous fingers tugged at it so that it fell down 
a little round her face. 

Half-muttered fragments of ideas escaped him. 
One could see in his eyes how quickly his 
thoughts travelled. 

‘ It is like a winter’s sun in mist, a veil of 
tears perhaps — no, it is not despair; it will not 
do,’ and he sighed deeply. 

It is impossible to say how long he would have 
kept her there; until probably he felt tired and 
the light failed. But Theresa went to the door 
and knocked when she thought it was time that 
he should stop, for she feared that he would 
over-work and over- tire himself, and Lester’s 
health had to be guarded with great care. 
Gilbert followed Theresa. 

‘ How have you been getting on } ’ 

' I have done nothing, ’ said her brother a little 
petulantly. 

‘ No,’ whispered Gilbert to Agatha, ‘he has 
not done you justice.’ 

She was gathering her hair into its knot again, 
and simply looked up at him in silent disagree- 
ment. 

‘ I am sorry. You must try again another 
day,’ said Theresa, but Lester lingered near 
the easel, vaguely fingering his brush. 

‘ Lester, you have a headache, you are tiring 


UGLY IDOL 


103 


your eyes. Wait till she comes again, perhaps 
she will be in the mood you want her. She is 
not to-day ’ 

‘ No, I shall not get it to-day. ’ 

‘ Well then, dearest, will it not be better to 
wait } ’ 

‘Yes — I am tired, ’ and having got him to own 
this, Theresa knew that he would be obedient. 
At times he declared that he was not tired and 
then no argument would move him ; if urged too 
far he simply locked the door, and she would 
have to go away, to loiter outside in the passage, 
useless, to be told by the doctor that if she were 
not more careful of him she must take the con- 
sequences. She looked round the room now with 
a despairing eye, noting the various pictures in 
different stages of completion. It did not seem 
as if he would ever finish any of them ; yet never 
in his life had Lester left a thing unfinished. 

This afternoon, of course, Gilbert took Agatha 
home. Unfortunately the walk was not very long. 

‘ Let us walk quick, Gilbert, I am afraid of 
meeting Graham. ’ 

‘ Do you not like him } ’ 

‘ No, not at all. I cannot understand how 
mamma puts up with so much of him ; he is so 
coarse beside ’ and there she paused. 

‘ Beside.^ ’ queried Gilbert quickly. 

‘ Any one else I know. ’ 

Gilbert took the lame conclusion to himself, 
and quivered with joy. Her meaning was very 
plain. 


104 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ I do not care for him either, ’ he mumbled, 
feeling a necessity to talk, even about nothing, 
because the way was so short. * His drawing is 
trashy stuff too, he has not even the art to make 
his subjects you know — only just — disagreeable. 
I believe he tries to imitate Lester. ’ 

‘ Imitate Lester! Would any one dare to do 
that ^ ’ 

How warmly she always sympathized with him I 

‘ Oh yes, they are good for the critics, who 
get a dash at Lester through them sometimes. 
Luckily he knows nothing of it. ' 

‘ No, these little matters are below him.’ 

‘ Yes, ’ cried Gilbert enthusiastically. ' I never 
saw any one before who accepted him in the right 
light; he is as misjudged a man as Zola, and 
people try to measure him by their own little 
tape-measures. ’ 

Agatha agreed very warmly to this, and added 
other comments of her own to which he also 
agreed. It seemed to him, in fact, that they 
always did agree warmly with each other, and 
Agatha entered heartily into all he said. And, 
great God! what a lot he said; always on the 
most prosaic subjects, or searching for her likes 
and dislikes. This eager, emphatic person, with 
glowing eye was certainly a pleasant companion 
to her, for she did not understand anything that 
was not earnest, and her effect upon him was to 
make him invariably so : if an irony escaped him 
she did not perceive it. He would have been 
very easily repulsed ; most women indeed drove 


UGLY IDOL 


105 


him further and further into his shell by their 
polite, indifferent, strained manner to him. It 
was not so much that he was plain, but he was a 
bear. By which is meant, is it not, the stolid 
person who is apparently incapable of compre- 
hending just those nice little things that salt life 
and make it tasty ? 

‘ He is uneducated, he has no woman-kind of 
his own, you know. But I could educate him ; 
he is a little heavy on hand,’ said Mrs. Yorke to 
Graham, who was a distant relative of her hus- 
band’s whom she was asked to ‘mother’ while 
he was in town to keep him from evil ways. 

' I never meet him any place, — he ’s oldish I 
suppose } ’ 

‘ Not your age, my dear boy. Why, I might 
be his mother. ’ 

‘ Impossible. ’ 

‘ But do you know that I am forty } ’ 

‘ That ’s only over twenty, is n’t it I’m over 
twenty too. Jove! charming! I begin to like 
arithmetic. ’ 

‘ It is odd that you have never learnt that two 
and two make four, in the matter of money. ’ 

‘ I have learned that one and one make two, 
you know. ’ 

‘ Bad boy, I don’t doubt it.’ 

Mrs. Yorke jumped up from her chair saying, 

‘ Here they are. Gilbert seems to me to be im- 
proving already. ’ 

She was really a very youthful looking woman ; 
she might have been anything under thirty-four. 


io6 


UGLY IDOL 


Gilbert lingered on the doorstep of the house, 
in no hurry to go away. 

‘ Are there any books you want changed at the 
library.? ’ 

‘ Yes, but do not bother about it, I will go 
myself to-morrow. ’ 

* Don’t you trust me.? You never used to 
hesitate to make use of me, ’ he answered smiling. 

‘ You had nothing more important to do then. ’ 

* Nor yet now,’ he added quickly. 

* You are very obliging,’ Agatha said with her 
gentle smile, and disappeared for a moment to 
fetch some books about which she gave him in- 
structions. And he went away well content, 
thinking of the frank, pleased smile she had 
thrown at him. He cuddled it, and fostered it, 
until it grew and grew in his passionate soul to 
just such a size as he wished it to be. 

Gilbert’s even persistence had overcome Mr. 
Strode’s opposition, who accepted his son’s ab- 
sence every Saturday afternoon now as a mat- 
ter of course, and being occupied with his own 
affairs, did not inquire whither he went or what 
he did. He seemed to have forgotten that it had 
ever been otherwise. He was at present engaged 
on a work which he was going to present to 
one of Ella’s very Anglican aunts, a- person 
associated with an Anglican Sisterhood which 
Mrs. Tegart-Hoare tolerated and gave to because, 
at least, it was religion. Mrs. Tegart-Hoare, being 
so good, could not resist ‘ giving ’ to this wealthy 
charity, and in return she told her sister what the 


UGLY IDOL 


107 

boys wanted for Christmas presents : A tele- 
scope, a photographic kit, surgical instruments 
for Willie, which articles the sister gave with 
violent complainings to the other half-dozen sis- 
ters about expense. 

Mr. Strode was employed in concocting a land- 
scape for the chapel crkhe. He laughed over it 
a great deal with Gilbert, but he could not help 
being charming to any one in whose presence 
he found himself, and the whole Tegart-Hoare 
household agreed that, whatever he might have 
been in his youth, he was a most delightful man 
now. Others said that one could see what he had 
been as a boy — some ladies’ highest praise. Why 
of course, Mr. Strode’ s youth was imperishable; 
one could see quite well in old boy what young 
boy had been. 

Martha objected to this landscape very much; 
some coals were taken from her economical little 
heap, and were covered with papier-mdM for 
the ground- work of mountains; next she was 
asked to knit very tightly some brilliant green 
wool that Gilbert bought, which was boiled after 
and fuzzed out for trees. She watched her masters 
in wonderment as they spent the whole evening 
with sleeves turned up and dirty fingers over this 
child’s play. Mr. Strode’ s merry tongue wagged 
briskly, and sudden appreciative undertones of 
laughter came from Gilbert now and then. But, 
as a rule, he was thinking of other things, and 
sometimes care forced itself upon him, weighed 
upon his brow, and his mouth twitched in meagre 
response to his father's chatter. 


io8 


UGLY IDOL 


When the landseape was finished a screen of 
paper was put before it, and one looked at it 
through a small hole. 

They took it to the Tegart-Hoares. Mrs. 
Tegart-Hoare glanced at it askance, and thinking 
all these things wicked, endeavored to abstract 
it, but her sister accustomed to her ways guarded 
it vigilantly. Tegart-Hoare was interested in it, 
and had progressed from modelling to a discussion 
on art, when his wife swept past him, and he 
became aware of his backsliding. He stopped 
abruptly. 

‘ Marmaduke, Stark says the mare is ill, but 
I require the carriage. Will you go and see 
about it } ’ 

The shadow disappeared. 

Ella admired it, and listened with interest 
while Gilbert patiently explained how it was 
done. 

‘ How clever you are ! ’ she exclaimed, gazing 
at him with admiring brown eyes. 

‘ It is very simple, ’ he answered, suppressing a 
yawn. 

‘ Frank ! ’ shouted Ella through the open door. 

‘ Do come and look at this lovely creche^ it ’s like 
a doll’s theatre. ’ 

‘ Ella-h! ’ gasped Mrs. Tegart-Hoare. 

Marmaduke returned, and said that the mare 
could not be used. ‘ Weight of the carriage and 
its occupant,’ he drawled, running his eye over 
his wife’s figure, so that Mr. Strode smiled and 
ruffled his white hair, ‘ is certainly too much for 


UGLY IDOL 


109 


her at present. It ’s not altogether the weight of 
your sanctity that counts,’ he murmured turning 
away. 

Then he and Mr. Strode disappeared down- 
stairs, Mrs. Tegart-Hoare and her sister went 
away also, and Gilbert was too much engrossed in 
his own thoughts to note the meaningful nods 
and fragmentary remarks that passed between 
them. Ella sat down beside the fire and 
crocheted. There was a nice matronly look 
about her when she engaged herself in a quiet 
occupation like this, but her talk was wearying. 
Gilbert suddenly asked if she played, and pleased 
with this attention, she swung across the room 
to her grand piano, and performed a carefully 
tutored piece or two. Gilbert sat deep in his 
chair and thought of Agatha: she was so unlike 
Ella; she appeared to him exceedingly beautiful, 
impossibly beautiful, as he figured her to himself 
in the Tegart-Hoare’s drawing-room. 

Agatha, also, spent her time in dreaming, it is 
apparently a thing that every one does. She 
always had dreamt, but now it was difficult to 
tell which was dream and which was actual, and 
it did not matter. People knew, of course, that 
Lester had chosen to consider her as worthy of 
his attention, that, in fact, she was sitting to him. 
They thereupon discovered that she was very 
beautiful, and she complained to Theresa that she 
was never left alone. 

^ If you get stuck on a pedestal, you must ex- 
pect people to try and see what ’s on the top,’ was 


I 10 


UGLY IDOL 


the answer, delivered with the sharpness Agatha 
never understood. She wondered how he came 
to have such a dreadful sister and why he loved 
her so much. And Theresa did not care for 
Agatha any better. ‘ One of those insipid women 
like tepid tea that men rave about, because they 
have no passions or unpleasant idiosyncrasies to 
disturb their selfish little souls ’ was her opinion. 

People, of course, put Lester’s choosing down 
to his madness, because, said the beskirted half, 
observing sundry male eyes turned in Agatha’s 
direction, ‘ don’t you think she ’s too pale to 
have the real beauty of a blonde? Her mouth 
is really very large, and her eyes are dreadfully 
light! But still, she’s sweet, is n’t she? if she 
were n’t so solemn.’ 

Agatha vaguely wondered why she was looked 
at curiously by so many, but she did riot think of it 
much, these things were outside her, quite outside ; 
but Mrs. Yorke found the position interesting. 

‘ I should n’t wonder, you know,’ said Graham, 

‘ when you get a genius and a woman like that — 
they seem two oddities rather well met.’ 

‘ Poor Theresa I ’ whispered some one else. 

These little phrases germinated and sent up 
shoots ; there must always be something interest- 
ing where a man and a woman are concerned. 

Next time Agatha went to the studio, Lester 
said that he had been waiting for her, — why had 
she not come sooner? 

‘ I thought you were busy,’ she answered. 

His smile was bright, for he always seemed 


UGLY IDOL 


m 


pleased to see her, and with a quaint courtesy he 
led her to her chair. He had begun another 
picture of her; his intuition told him that he had 
here something most entirely feminine, and al- 
though she had never yet looked as he wished 
for Genevra, she had other interesting expressions. 
He had not given up his supreme idea, he never 
gave up anything ; some day she would have to 
come up to his demands, to show him the despair 
he needed to see before he could paint his picture, 
unless he found another more competent than she. 

‘ It looks like a Madonna,’ she said when she 
came down from the platform, and regarded the 
simple figure in blue which was beginning to 
appear upon the canvas. ‘Only it is just a 
woman. What is it? ’ 

‘ It is a woman,’ he answered. He never dis- 
cussed his pictures ; he expected her to admire it, 
that was all. ‘ An Eastern woman. They are more 
wholly women, the Orientals, than ours, are n’t 
they? ’ 

Agatha wanted to know what it meant, but he 
was not paying attention to her, his eyes roamed 
restlessly over the room. 

‘ “ My soul doth ” — no, I forget, — Theresa will 
remember it’ 

‘ “ My soul doth magnify the Lord ”? ’ 

‘ Yes, that ’s it, — but look, — look at this bust !’ 
he cried, calling her to a table that had been 
covered over. He looked up into her face waiting 
for her to comment upon it. 

‘ But why do you always want me to praise your 


II2 


UGLY IDOL 


things, why do you always want me to say “ very 
pretty”? — you know I can’t — it’s so absurd.’ 

He lifted his head, gratified, but at that 
moment an inadvertent movement of her hand 
shook the table, the bust rolled unsteadily, and 
fell with a crash on the floor. 

He started, and she gazed with fear at the , 
light that grew in his eyes. 

‘ Broken ! ' 

She seemed to be scorched by the hot glare 
of those eyes. 

‘ Broken ! ’ 

He stamped on some fragments ; he told her 
how precious it had been, that it could never be 
replaced, that she had broken it, his bust; he 
raved, he stamped, he flew up and down the room 
beside himself, perhaps he would like to kill her. 

She did not know him, nor these terrible out- 
bursts that came on his nervous nature ; she took 
every word he said to heart, and such was her 
belief in his greatness, that she felt she had com- 
mitted a sin in the breaking of this bust. 

She fell on her knees and held up her hands 
in a shrinking from the blow she thought his 
clutching hands would deal her. 

‘ Oh,’ she cried, ‘ forgive me, I did not mean it.’ 

He paused, reeled a little, and put out a hand 
dizzily. 

‘ He is ill,’ she thought in alarm, and taking the 
hand led him to the sofa. He lay down, and she 
knelt beside him at a loss what to do. Then he 
opened his eyes, and saw her kneeling beside him. 


UGLY IDOL 


113 

and his regard fixed itself upon her face. He 
noticed the tears that still quivered on her lashes ; 
and her sorrow ; and looking at her his eyes began 
to sparkle again. He sat up. 

‘Like that! That is better! Yes, — yes,’ he 
cried, unconscious of the fragments of white stuff 
that lay round his broken bust. He put his hand 
in her disordered hair, and lifted it gently to see 
her face. 

‘ Very beautiful ! ’ he whispered, caressing her, 
still with his fingers in this shining hair. Then 
he turned to his easel, and worked there in silence, 
the scratch, scratch of his crayon being the only 
sound in the room. 

She, confused by the rapidity of his moods, 
was scarcely aware of anything but that his em- 
brace had been round her, and that, at present, 
she must not move. The position was very 
trying, but she would have stayed there forever. 

A deep silence filled the big, bare room. In 
the window not far from the broken fragments 
of plaster, Lester drew quickly ; in the middle of 
the floor Agatha knelt, her pale face raised to 
the light, a sofa of blue color near her, behind 
an expanse of gray wall. 

When she rose to go, she begged again to be 
forgiven for the breaking of the bust. He gazed 
at her wearily for a moment and his eyes followed 
hers in the direction of the fragments. 

‘ Oh, never mind,’ he said with a regal smile, and 
she admired his generosity, his greatness of nature. 

The sittings were interrupted for a week, for 
8 


114 


UGLY IDOL 


when she came again, accompanied this time by 
her mother, the studio was being cleaned, and 
Lester had been told by Theresa that he was not 
well enough to work. The windows were open 
and clouds of dirty charcoally dust swirled in the 
air, and it was evident that she was not wanted. 
However, Lester appeared in the dining-room 
doorway, and seeing her, found a million little 
things to say and do that kept her there for the 
afternoon. When he was not occupied in his 
studio, he was busy over little things that never 
came to any apparent finish, nor had any apparent 
object, things that sometimes even appeared 
somewhat foolish. He was extremely sociable 
when not working, and did not care to be left 
alone ; Theresa felt therefore relieved that Agatha 
should take her place. 

Gilbert arrived as usual and helped Theresa in 
the studio, while Mrs. Yorke hovered round the 
door, issuing a mild flood of gossip, endeavor- 
ing to entice Gilbert into an entertaining con- 
versation. But finding him too preoccupied, she 
resolved to go away. 

‘ Do let me do something,’ she turned to say 
with an aimless flutter of lacy sleeves. These 
little gestures of hers gave a confiding birdy im- 
pression, a flufly dependence upon others that 
was charming — quite too charming. 

* And now,’ said Theresa when she was gone, 
‘ let us work a little. I think that board may be 
entrusted to the servants, and can you reach the 
shelf without steps? You should be a librarian. 


UGLY IDOL 


115 

Gilbert, your faculty of reaching high shelves 
would be appreciated.’ 

He looked down at her, about to answer, when 
the sound of Agatha’s voice came from the 
distance, and at that such a transparent happiness 
shone on his face that it attracted her attention. 

‘ What are you looking so silly about? Do 
you contemplate suicide or marriage? ’ and then, 
being extremely businesslike when at work, she 
added with a whisk of her apron, ‘ Come, come, 
pile these loose pages together, to be thrown 
away.’ 

But presently, it seemed to her that he was 
peculiarly silent, and turning sharply she saw 
him sitting, his legs stretched out before him, the 
unsorted heap at his side, six or seven sketches 
upon his knees. 

* I should have remembered how useless a man 
always is. I had an erroneous conception that 
you were useful.’ 

He started. ‘ Are all these — to be — thrown 
away ? ’ 

‘ I think I said so half-an-hour ago.’ 

‘ Oh,’ and he began mechanically to sort them out. 

‘Why?’ 

‘ Oh nothing.* 

‘ I must help, I suppose. It’s odd, but I always 
have to do my own business in the long run. 
Agatha, Agatha, Agatha, bless me how many 
more, — what, — Gilbert! ’ 

Theresa stood up and quivered like those dolls 
on wires that go by machinery. 


ii6 


UGLY IDOL 


* Oh, don’t take them from me ! ’ he cried 
piteously, and falling on his knees he sought for 
them with eager hands. 

Then for a quarter of an hour he held forth to 
Theresa, his hot face close to hers, a general air 
of emotion and gesticulation about him that re- 
minded her of his foreign blood. She listened, — 
and an under-current of other thoughts occupied 
her at the same time. This sort of thing was not 
for her, even if she wished it ; this terrible happi- 
ness of youth was as far away from her as though 
she had never been young. Perhaps she envied 
him his one freedom, the freedom to love like 
this, with his whole soul, his whole being. But 
she had Lester still, she regarded him with an 
unnecessary sadness, for after all, it had nothing 
to do with her. 

‘ Yes,’ said Gilbert, with an idiotic smile, ‘ I am 
happy.’ 

Ah ! ah ! Petit papillon bleu ! 

Looking at him, his excited eyes thinking of 
the hopelessness of it, of this poor wretch daring 
to love his Agatha, Theresa internally doubted 
the verity of this statement. Then, also, she 
knew that he had no lack of energy, in perverted 
causes, no want of a will which he used wrongly ; 
a very warm tender heart, but a diseased thing 
that went all wrong. His emotions burnt into 
him and they were very fierce, and she wondered 
where the folly would end. ‘ He is so upside- 
down and inside-out and wrong-way-round and 
pig-headed,’ she meditated. 


UGLY IDOL 


117 


She proceeded to lecture him ; she pointed out 
that he was poor, that he did not live in Agatha’s 
society, that he only came to her, Theresa, as 
an old friend, quite independent of society, that 
Mrs. Yorke would most certainly object, that, in 
fact, it was an utter impossibility. And then 
she brutally wanted to know whether Agatha 
had given him any encouragement. He poured 
such a torrent of evidence of this fact upon her 
that she retreated into silence. 

What a lot of life one lives in a month some- 
times, how one races along, so happy, so reckless, 
chasing — chasing a blue butterfly. 

All this time Agatha was with Lester, and when 
Theresa saw her sitting beside Gilbert on the sofa 
at tea, with the same shining, far-away eye that 
she had noted in him, she concluded, that their 
happiness was horrid to look on at, and relapsed 
into a morose silence. ‘ He looks as handsome as 
he used to be,’ she said to herself with a snarl. 

‘Will you take my arm, it is so slippery?’ said 
Gilbert to Agatha when he took her home. She 
did so, and he felt the little gloved hand on his 
sleeve. 

‘ Don’t be afraid,’ he added, as she felt for her 
steps. ‘ I ’m here, I will hold you up, lean on me,’ 
saying this the radiant but short-sighted boy 
slipped and tumbled himself. 

Agatha laughed a little, and said, ‘ I hope you 
have not hurt yourself, are you quite sure } ’ 

How thoughtful she was ! 

‘ I am afraid you will not depend on me now.’ 


ii8 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ Yes, I do, that was only an accident. I always 
feel safe with you, you are so big, — or, at least, tall.’ 

And this delighted him. 

Somehow it never entered into his head to 
doubt that she returned his love. It did not 
matter, he was quite happy in the fact that he 
loved her, and her conduct had never been such 
as to give rise to any doubts. 

A month, two months glided by, unnoticed by 
every one, every one was busy. Mr. Strode smiled 
and talked to Tegart-Hoare in the study ; Tegart- 
Hoare talked to his wife, she to Ella, Ella to 
Gilbert, and Gilbert to himself; he was generally 
half-asleep when Ella spoke to him. On the 
other hand he found much business concerning 
Agatha ; he had slid into a place beside her. He 
it was who did this and that for her and her 
mother, particularly, somehow, for her mother. 
Mrs. Yorke took advantage of what she conceived 
to be his excessive good-nature to make a slave 
of him, and having achieved this, she discovered 
he was one of those people that improve upon 
knowing. Agatha grew to depend upon him 
also ; he was always there to do these little things 
that no one else wants to do. ‘ Oh, ask Gilbert, he 
is sure to know,’ one grew into the habit of saying, 
and it saved a great deal of trouble. He fetched 
and carried and was happy; he did not speak 
much, for he read in her smile her kindly welcome 
of him, all that made words seem, to him, un- 
necessary. She accepted him without a thought, 
liked his company, and — well, of course, he was 


UGLY IDOL 


119 

as a brother to her. She asked him innocently 
why he never came when other people were there, 
on ‘ At home days,’ and he mumbled that he could 
not get away from the office. He took his three 
weeks’ holiday at a time of year that the other 
clerks did not want it, for since he coqld not 
afford to go into the country now, it did not mat- 
ter. He spent them in a happy and unhealthy 
manner, travelling by underground between Pen- 
ton Street and Holland Park, in which locality 
both the Schelless’ and Mrs. Yorke lived. He 
saw a great deal more of Agatha than ordinarily, 
for Lester was ill, and consequently had no need 
of her. Gilbert put her absent-mindedness and 
dreaminess down to everything but this circum- 
stance. 

Yes, Lester was ill, and Theresa became un- 
bearable to every one. 

‘ What time is it? ’ he would ask, after Theresa 
had spent hours in vainly endeavoring to interest 
him in something. 

‘ Half-past three.' 

He lay gazing at the ceiling. 

‘ The bell keeps ringing,’ he remarked presently. 

‘ People leaving cards I expect. Does it annoy 
you? ’ 

‘ Oh no,’ but he seemed to have a thought in 
his mind that he did not utter. 

‘ I think perhaps I had better do this or that,’ 
she would say half to herself in the hopes of 
catching his ear. 

‘ Don’t trouble,’ he would reply drearily. 


120 


UGLY IDOL 


Then she would do something else ; she would 
get Caspari to come with his violin and play some 
of his exquisite music in the next room. This 
was found to be too exciting for Lester; it did 
not soothe him or send him to sleep, it touched 
the hair-spring of his being and sent all his 
nervous little wheels revolving giddily. And then 
having nothing better to do, he gazed at Theresa, 
and discovered that she was plain. 

‘ What a pity it is that you are not prettier,’ he 
said. 

‘ But you love me in spite of that? ’ she asked 
anxiously, her face more than usually puckered 
with pain. 

‘Yes, of course,’ he answered with a loving 
smile, and she was repaid for a day of wearisome 
attendance upon his every wish and want. 

The Yorkes came to ask after him, and he, 
hearing their voices, called to Theresa that he 
would like to see them, and she found him tranquil 
after the visit. 

‘ I suppose he gets tired of me, always me, 
yes, it is natural; still it is horrid that other 
people should have so much more effect on him 
than L’ 

Agatha pleased Lester. Her face was a con- 
tinual delight to him, and he told her often that 
she was beautiful. He seemed to miss her when 
she was not there, and looked for her coming, 
perhaps because he read unconsciously her admira- 
tion of him in her eyes ; at all events her presence 
tilled him with a sense of complete satisfaction. 


UGLY IDOL 


I2I 


She offered him her all ; he took it. What did 
he give her in return? One does not ask these 
questions about a genius. He would never do 
any one any harm, this simple little man, and he 
would not wrong this woman who, like himself, was 
quite unconscious of the clacking tongues of on- 
lookers. He found a pleasure in her company, 
that was all, and since his wishes had never been 
denied him, he pursued his pleasure. She sat at 
his feet, adored and dreamt. Let us bejewel the 
eyes of our idols. . . . 

When he was again at work, he went on with 
her picture, but she did not recognize it as herself 
when it was finished. He had idealized her, but 
that he should do so pleased her. This was not, 
of course, the picture he had in his mind ; it was 
still unpainted. 

People insulted Agatha by telling her that it 
was really very like her. Then they went away 
and shrugged a shoulder. 

‘ Who but Lester Schelless could conceive her in 
such an attitude, with such an expression? She, 
so quiet, so singularly lacking in ordinary con- 
versation, so awfully commonplace ! Unless it 
was all underneath. Of course, some people were 
very deep, and, anyway, all this had lasted nearly 
four months . . . did any one know that Strode ? 
He seemed to share his brotherly terms of 
acquaintance with the two families. Wasn’t it 
odd ? Of course he always had been at Theresa’s, 
but he was so often seen with the other. In fact, it 
is evident. . . . You know, she seems rather. . . . 


22 


UGLY IDOL 


Unless she does something decisive now. . . . ’ 
People were enjoying themselves in a little 
harmless gossip. Gilbert and Theresa were as 
unaware of this enjoyment as Lester and Agatha 
themselves. 

But business crowded upon Gilbert. In the 
midst of his mad happiness, his worldless dream 
that was without time, past or future, came 
quarterly bill-time, and he descended to earth on 
an unpleasant switchback of broken dreams and 
half realities. His father’s irritability frightened 
him, for the doctor had told him its portent, so 
he hid all the bills, and chattered brightly. But 
he could not keep it up, and night after night he 
crumpled his hot brow over these figures. They 
grinned at him, with their fingers at their noses. 

‘ You have not been attending to us,’ they said; 

* and so he, your father, has put us all on the 
wrong side. You can’t do it, you can’t put us 
back.’ A nought and a nought and a nought — 
these little, wide-open mouths of poverty, when 
they do not swell the train of a chubby leading- 
figure. Gilbert gazed in dismay, in utter despair. 
He sat for a full hour one night thinking, 
apparently, and every minute of this hour traced 
its mark upon his face. Once more a tumbling 
of idols, — no, a selling of them ; once more the 
filthy, stinking rag of reality was stuck under his 
nose. 

‘ Oh ! Oh ! ’ cried his poor, sore heart. 

‘ Oh ! Oh ! ’ yelled the open, empty-mouthed 
noughts. Everything had tumbled into the gutter. 


UGLY IDOL 


123 


The luxury of love had to be paid for like every- 
thing else. So he spent a whole night with his 
books spread before him, his hands lying idle 
beside them, staring vacantly. 

For a week or two Gilbert hid his gray face in 
Fenton Street. He found a vicious joy in the 
thought that Agatha would miss him and wonder 
at his absence. She had shown such a sympathy 
in all his concerns that now he felt she would be 
gently offended at his neglect. That he was to 
her all that she was to him the sanguine dreamer 
never doubted. He was, of course, like every one 
else, fully occupied with himself Self is such a 
big thing that you cannot see round the corner 
of it sometimes. 

Another trouble fell on him — or he awoke to 
it. He was standing one day in the hall at the 
Tegart-Hoare’s in a little side passage to escape 
the notice of the mistress of the house, who came 
and went in her usual perambulations about her 
domain. He was waiting for his father, had been 
waiting for three-quarters of an hour with dull 
patience, listening to the sounds about the 
passages. It was a silent place, for its thick 
carpets deadened footsteps, but there was a soft 
patter of people coming and going, an opening 
and shutting of doors, sudden bursts of Phil’s or 
Ella’s voice in the schoolroom, and the sibilant 
whisper of Mr. Tegart-Hoare’s never-ending con- 
versation was always audible. Also, he heard his 
father’s voice in the study. 

‘Bent has threatened to foreclose. You know 


124 


UGLY IDOL 


what that means to me,’ Mr. Strode was saying 
excitedly. ‘ Of course, I do not allow Gilbert to 
meddle in these matters.’ 

‘No?’ drawled Tegart-Hoare leisurely, with 
the undertone of irony that always permeated his 

voice. ‘ Then you are ’ 

‘ We are ruined, we are ruined ! my dear friend. 
We have no pos-possible means of meeting this 
mortgage. Not heavy, of course, at all — arrears 
of interest and all that — but I am quite unable 
to meet them.’ 

Gilbert knew from the tone of voice what a very 
fascinating expression of countenance accom- 
panied his father’s words. 

‘ Henry will have nothing to do with it. He 
hates me. He always was an awful ass.' 

‘ Precisely,’ murmured Tegart-Hoare. 

‘ He said in his letter that he would make 
Gilbert an allowance in case of his marriage.’ 

‘ You gave him the idea of that, I suppose? ’ 
‘Well, I mentioned that there was such a 
possibility; but at present, of course, he had no 
capital to marry on. Then he wrote to Gilbert. 
I took the letter. He said he was quite willing 
to give so much, if it aided him to make an 
advantageous marriage. He will do nothing 
more. The idiot does n’t see that it ’s only present 
difficulties I ’m suffering under. He calmly says 
that he has nothing whatever to do with my 

business affairs. I — I believe ’ 

‘ He, then, proposes to make that up? ' 

‘ Yes, yes.’ 


UGLY IDOL 


125 


* Gilbert inherits his property? ’ 

‘His every thing — his everything. It ’s only this 
matter with Bent, and a few other little debts that 
are not pressing. But Bent — Bent ! Help me, my 
dear friend, help me. Consider my terrible posi- 
tion. What am I to do? You are the only friend 
I have left on earth. You know what it must 
cost me to ask for help — it is nothing to you, 
and, of course — only a present obligation — 
afterwards ’ 

‘ Well, she has so much, — yes, sit down. Of 
course I shall see to it. One condition, — I take 
Bent into my hands completely. There is no 
need for you to — ah — trouble about it further just 
now. She is not likely to marry any one else. 
It is not what could be called a business transac- 
tion, but in the cause of friendship these things 
are not considered,’ added Tegart-Hoare gener- 
ously, with his eye, trained by his wife, turned 
upon the future, where he saw his £-auc/ie daughter 
installed as mistress of Henry’s English and 
French properties. Ella, plain and awkward 
and untaking, brought up, too, in a circle of society 
that was peculiar to Mrs. Tegart-Hoare, and that 
embraced gentlemen of good family or title who 
only visited her with religious intent, — Salvation 
Army captains — ■ Ella had not much chance of 
marrying, except, perhaps, some clergyman with 
no property in view but his portion of the 
Kingdom of Heaven. 

The Strodes at this moment were very poor ; 
a heavy mortgage that Mr. Strode raised upon 


126 


UGLY IDOL 


his house, during his transactions in the city, a 
few years ago, had fallen due, and this meant 
entire bankruptcy, as he could not even pay the 
accumulated interest, Gilbert’s money having 
been spent as it was earned, and before. Ella 
had enough money to make the life of her 
husband quite comfortable, and she could of 
course, once Bent was disposed of, tide her 
husband and his father over their present diffi- 
culties. Mr. Strode, well aware that Bent was 
not the only cloud on his horizon, although by 
far the greatest, had had his eye upon this for 
some time. Mrs. Tegart-Hoare, seeing that Ella 
would gain prospects, that poverty (she con- 
sidered her daughter’s dot as such) would perhaps 
have a good effect upon her, for at present her 
lapses from religion caused some anxiety, Mrs. 
Tegart-Hoare having looked on the circumstances 
all round, having considered that Ella’s poverty 
would not entail living in an unbecoming manner ; 
that Gilbert was a grave young man, in Stanley’s 
too, of which there was no need to be ashamed, 
if people asked to whom Ella was married; 
that they were of very good family — Mrs. Tegart- 
Hoare conveyed to her husband, that she thought 
the match proper and suitable. ‘ We must ex- 
tend our charity, our fellow-feeling to all who 
need it, Marmaduke. Mr. Strode we know is 
repenting for the follies of his youth, let us aid 
the stray sheep, — such a very charming man. 
Ella loves Gilbert, we must not thwart the dear 
child, and I am sure he is very worthy. And,’ 


UGLY IDOL 


127 


added the simple soul, with naive frankness, * I 
fear she will not have again such an opportunity 
with a young man of prospects. ’ 

‘ Your faith in the future is generally practical, 
Emma, ’ returned Marmaduke. ^ The prospects 
on the whole are worth considering, and the out- 
lay for it, — small, — quite unimportant. ’ 

She suspected him of saying something that was 
wicked. So it happened that Gilbert heard 
these scraps of conversation outside the study door ; 
but he did not hear the whole, he only heard enough 
to awaken vague suspicion, that his father had 
been deceiving him, had been concocting affairs 
of his own with that cunning that had come on 
him since his illness. What had he been doing, 
and why had he kept it secret.? His father had 
deceived him, his father, his father. . . . 

Mr. Strode came out of the study with a 
radiant smile; there was a bow, a laugh, a jump 
of his little silver ringlets as he said good-bye to 
Mrs. Tegart-Hoare, and she watched him depart 
with a very amiable display of teeth. 

At home, Mr. Strode found his chatter was 
received in dead silence on the part of his son, 
and this irritated him. 

‘ What do you mean by reading the newspaper 
when I am talking to you .? ’ 

Gilbert laid it down, and turned a thin, gray 
lined face obediently to his father. 

‘ Well ! ’ said Mr. Strode. 

* You were busy with Tegart-Hoare this after- 
noon ? ’ 


128 


UGLY IDOL 


* What of it, what of it ? I may talk to Tegart- 
Hoare when I choose, I suppose! learn not to 
meddle in things that don’t concern you. ’ 

‘ You have told me nothing about it I ’ 

‘ And is it necessary for you to know every 
blessed thing that goes on around you ? Is it 
necessary for you to inquire into all your father 
does ? I am not such a fool as I look yet. ’ He 
smiled cunningly, a little shamefacedly. 

‘But, — well, — we’re all we have to each 
other, you know, we two. I always think of you 
first, — and you me, — don’t you.? If this busi- 
ness concerns me — and it must since it concerns 
you, — why don’t you tell me.? why do you make 
a secret of it.? Oh don’t keep anything from 
me,’ and he caught his father’s hand and looked 
in his face with a great love. 

Mr. Strode snatched his hand away, and 
worked himself up into one of his dangerous 
passions; he swore, he defended himself piti- 
fully, and ended in sobs. Yes, he cried, and 
leant against the shoulder of his son, who soothed 
him. Suddenly, in the midst of it all, Gilbert 
thought of Agatha, and he loved her more than 
ever before, and she shone brighter and brighter 
against this dreary back-ground. 


CHAPTER VI 


And so it happened that after the lapse of a 
month, Gilbert suddenly turned up at Theresa’s. 
He had gone first to Mrs. Yorke’s door, and his 
courage had failed him ; he had almost a dread 
of meeting Agatha ; but recent events had pushed 
him, pushed him, he had almost run there, and 
when he arrived, he — turned aside. After a long, 
dark month of dreams, that had risen to such a 
pitch as to drive him forth at all costs, after that 
to be so near her, so near the possibility of seeing 
her, — he ran to her door and turned aside. 

He went with no distinct feeling whatever, 
except a need of seeing her, and a vague instinct 
told him that if he saw her, he would say all that 
had been held back in his silence so long, he 
would commit unutterable follies, and he in 
his shabby coat had no right to commit them. 
So at the last moment, he turned aside from the 
door. 

It seemed to him as he went away, that all 
the doors of the houses were very tightly shut 
against him. He was shut out and it was cold. 
Slinking along the pavement beside him was a 
thin cur, its tail down, its skin shivering over its 
protruding ribs. Now and then it gazed wistfully 
9 


130 


UGLY IDOL 


down the area steps of a house, but all the doors 
were shut. It, too, was out in the cold. Gilbert 
became conscious of his companion, and eyed it 
with fellow-feeling. It had been a handsome 
retriever once no doubt, at any rate it was no 
mongrel. Its coat was scabby and brown, its 
face savage, and one of its legs had been broken 
by a kick, like as not. 

‘ Boy, ’ said Gilbert, making advances. 

The beast came up and sniffed at him with 
lifting lips, and when he raised his hand it 
cowered from him. But it did not bite him, it 
recognized him as a friend of its kind, more- 
over, had been a gentleman once, and retained 
a fragment of manners. 

They walked on again, and the dog followed 
Gilbert as though he were its master. 

Habit took him to Theresa’s door. He went in 
almost absent-mindedly; but this door, too, was 
shut to the dog. Gilbert turning round saw it 
still there, and remembering that he had a 
packet of sandwiches in his pocket that he had 
got for his father’s supper, flung it out. 

It unfortunately happened that every one was 
at Theresa’s that day, for she had announced her 
departure from town, and given a big At Home 
‘ to prevent them coming by twos and threes at 
the last while I ’m packing,’ she said. 

When Gilbert entered, a very vivid remem- 
brance of the first time he had met Agatha there, 
five months ago, came before him. Yes, he was 
listening to that voice again, and he felt the blood 


UGLY IDOL 


131 

rise to his temples in response to it. He lingered 
outside the door, his hand was on the handle, 
when he reflected that he would have to open it, 
which would attract attention to him, and he 
retreated quickly to the studio. He could breathe 
here, in this big, bare place, dark in the half-light 
of drawn curtains. A bright gleam came through 
the curtains that separated it from the ante- 
chamber, and from beyond the ante-chamber 
came a buzz of conversation. He stood with his 
ear at the chink, listening to the voice that was as 
clear in his ear as the drops that fall from above 
in a cascade, mingling with the deeper notes of 
other waters. Then it ceased. He waited im- 
patiently, but it did not begin again. He must 
glide into the room from the ante-chamber. He 
must make her speak again, to him. Y es, oh yes, 
she must speak to him, and he clutched the 
curtain to draw it back ; caught it roughly in an 
eager shaking hand. Suddenly he let it drop 
again, and turned away hurriedly. He would go 
home, go home at once. . . . 

The door opened over there, and the rustle of 
a woman’s garment told him some one else had 
come into the room, and he could not go. In a 
minute he saw the shine of her pale hair. Ex- 
quisitely beautiful she appeared to him in the 
blue gloom of the half-lit room. Her hair was 
silver almost, her face white, and he could see the 
expression of her wide mouth. He leant forward 
and stared and stared; all the very unwisest 
things that he had not said yet rushed to the tip 


132 


UGLY IDOL 


of his tongue, and he would say them now. What 
had she come there for.? To see him of course. 
How did she know that he was there.? Had seen 
him on the stair perhaps. No, he knew that was 
not it ; but she had come to look for him. 

'Agatha,’ he tried to whisper; but his voice 
sounded loud and jubilant. ' Agatha. ’ 

‘ Oh ! ’ and there was a moment’s pause. 

‘ You did not know that I was here.? ’ 

' No ! you startled me. Why are you in here .? 
Were you in the other room.? Surely I have not 
seen you for a long time. ’ 

‘ But I will explain, — forgive me.’ 

‘Yes,’ she answered simply, very vaguely. ‘ I 
missed you.' 

‘ You are not angry with me .? I will ex — ex- 
plain. ' 

He put out a hand to take hers; he stuttered, 
and stumbled over the crowd of words that tried 
to fight their way between his teeth, and his teeth 
seemed to close tighter and tighter upon them. 
He was so happy, so terribly happy, in the 
knowledge of all he was going to say, and she was 
waiting, evidently waiting, and the deep silence 
that only comes where living things are fell upon 
them. From the other side of the curtains came 
the murmur of voices, flippant voices, the clink of 
tea-spoons, that gleam of bright light. He was 
conscious of the figure beside him. He could just 
distinguish her pale head, and he shivered with 
ecstasy. 

The door at the end of the room opened again, 


UGLY IDOL 


133 

and Gilbert had not yet said a word of all that he 
was going to have said. Some one came in. 

Agatha suddenly stirred. It almost seemed 
indeed as if she had suddenly awakened from a 
sleep or a dream. She left his side, he felt her 
go, and he raised his hand to detain her. ‘ Come 
back, come back, I have not said it yet, listen ; ’ 
but she had left him, and he heard the swish of 
her dress as she moved quickly away. He started 
forward to follow her, and then suddenly remem- 
bered that some one else was there, and paused. 

‘ Ah ! ’ he heard her sigh — a sigh replete with 
joy — with supreme content. ‘ Ah ! ’ she sighed, 
and a voice he knew replied. It was Lester’s. 

He shrank back; but he heard their voices still 
as they talked together. ... Yes, he heard them, 
and he heard Lester’s first word. ... He shrank 
back into the folds of the curtain ; but it seemed 
to him that these voices followed him, and whis- 
pered closely in his ear, ... or was it the voices 
that came from the other side ? There, there was 
talking, and light, and that pervading laughter; 
he had heard it all before, this wearisome talking, 
— was there not even somebody saying: 

^ Have you (laugh) seen the latest one-man- 
show.?’ (laugh). 

There came a pause, a dead silence, as if they, 
too, were listening to the low sounds that came 
from the gray gloom behind. 

*Ah!’. . . the moisture rolled from his forehead. 

Then a great burst of laughter ohd ! how 

gay they were in the drawing room. 


134 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ What a pity Mr. Schelless missed that ! ’ 

^ I suppose it is on account of his health that 
you are going away so early this year.? ’ 

‘ Yes, — partly. ’ 

* Where is he — is he not well.? ’ 

‘ Oh yes, ’ Theresa said. ‘ He should be coming. ’ 
‘ No, no! he is here, here.’ Gilbert thought 
that he had cried it aloud; but no one seemed to 
have heard him. Theresa did not know that there 
was any one in the gray room there. She laughed 
and talked unconcernedly. 

Gilbert stood in the doorway, and slowly 
dropped the curtain behind him. He stumbled 
through the ante-room, and slid noiselessly into 
the drawing-room, into the bright light, amongst 
the chattering throng. He stood a moment, 
and listened again ; he had a great deal of listen- 
ing to do to-day. A little group, out of sight 
round the angle of the wall, was gossiping in 
undertones. 

‘ Yes, gone on for five months, nothing known 
as yet’ 

‘ Perhaps, as usual, something will happen out 
of town. It will need to.’ 

‘ But that other fellow disappeared. ’ 

‘ Oh, no! I’ve seen him about, I think. The 
most outrageous flirtation I ever saw. ’ 

‘ Oh well, we don’t know, you know; but she 
must be either unutterably simple or — t’ other 
way round.’ 

^ Never trust these blondes. ’ 

‘ Oh it ’s t’ other way round, of course.’ 


UGLY IDOL 


135 


‘ Well, there are none of them shy about per- 
forming in public. Every one knows, and if she 
does n’t do something decisively soon her 
reputation ’ 

‘ I do not think, anyway, that we should discuss 
it in Theresa’s drawing-room.’ 

‘ I am sure, ’ muttered one moving nearer, ^ that 
it will end scandalously. ’ Gilbert stood, listening 
to these light-hearted gossipers, and conceived 
their words to be laden with deep, malignant im- 
port. Somewhere in his poor distraught head 
these words took root, and it seemed to him that 
they menaced a danger to Agatha. . . . 

This was Graham^ who as he spoke moved 
towards the entry to the ante-chamber. ‘ Let ’s 
go in here, and have a look round quietly. It 
will be cool. ’ 

But Gilbert was there, and did not move aside 
to let him pass. He saw very distinctly the lifted 
eyebrows and sneering mouths. In such esteem 
was held his Agatha. 

‘ Excuse me, but Miss Schelless told me she did 
not wish this room used to-day. The doors have 
been opened by mistake; the blinds are down, ’ 
said the sentinel haughtily, and he seemed to 
Graham of most unusual height. 

‘Oh,’ mumbled this gentleman, ‘that’s a 
nuisance, but one may go in the hall I suppose.^ ’ 

Gilbert stared at him vacantly ; he was certain, 
quite certain that he heard sibilant whispers 
behind him approaching — from the studio. He 
opened his eyes, looked about him with a 
frightened glare and bolted from the room. 


36 


UGLY IDOL 


' Devil ! ’ said Graham. 

‘ My dear boy, do I hear you swearing ? ’ said 
Mrs. Yorke amiably. ^ 

Gilbert walked all the way home, and it was 
only instinct that took him there. He walked and 
walked for miles and miles and time was endless. 
Agatha ! Agatha ! something had happened, — 
what! — no, she did not love him. He laughed, 
he wondered why he laughed, it was so odd, 
was n’t it She loved Lester ; Lester was a great 
man, he was successful — he — he was nothing, and 
he was quite alone. There was a great crowd 
round him, he smelt it, there was a flashing of 
lights, a laughing, a talking, the turmoil of many 
people, and he was alone ; she had turned from 
him, and gone away, and he was alone. He 
walked quickly, he pushed rudely past people, 
and oaths were hissed in his ear, one, two, Agatha 
loved, Agatha loved this genius — Lester — one, 
two, Agatha loved, — so he walked, marching 
mechanically to a rhythm. I am alone, alone, 
alone, one. . . . 

There followed a darkness, and then the night- 
mare went on. A loud voice said in his ear that 
he had wronged her, had brought her to the very 
verge of scandal. He struggled with the voice, 
he shouted that he had as much right to love her 
as any one. Surely he had done nothing to merit 
all this! — for long he had been so miserable, 
surely he might be happy a little while.? Then 
he was in a street and all the doors were shut to 
him, there was one where he knocked and knocked 


UGLY IDOL 


137 


and it did not open; the voice said, ‘ She won’t 
open to you. She doesn’t want you,’ and he 
hurled himself at the door and tried to break it, 
but some one pulled him away and made him 
march, one, two, one, two. I am alone, alone. 
After that a hurly-burly of figures danced before 
his eyes, and he fell to making sums. They 
changed continually, these horrid figures, they 
would not work right; the answer was always 
one, two, one, two. 

‘ Well, I will go away now. Yes, yes, don’t 
excite yourself, no reason at all, ’ said the doctor 
to Mr. Strode with the imperturbable patience 
that medical men learn. ‘ And I can trust your 
discretion to see that no one makes any disturb- 
ance, eh } ’ 

Martha opened her eyes at that, but Mr. Strode 
smiled and nodded importantly, and to his old 
servant’s astonishment returned quietly to his 
room. 

" Now, Martha, ’ he said with a frown, ^ no noise. ’ 

^You see,’ said the doctor with a laugh, ‘he 
is quite safe. ’ 

Mr. Strode’s anxiety during his son’s illness 
had upset the whole household and Martha had 
had special charge of him. He loved his only 
son, and became conscious of his dependence 
upon him when he was no longer there. He had 
a fear of illness, but hovered about the room, 
half angry, half frightened when Gilbert did not 
know him. ‘What, what.? how is he now, eh.? ’ 
until the nurse, being only an ordinary person, 


UGLY IDOL 


138 

grew almost angry, and the patient doctor was 
sent for to establish peace. Mrs. Tegart-Hoare 
considering them now as in her possession, gasped 
a little at the poverty their home displayed and 
sent many luxuries. She enjoyed it, it was so 
nice and satisfactory to see the good one did. 
Theresa at once dispatched a nurse, and Mrs. 
Tegart-Hoare sent another, in case that person 
was not reliable. But still, for a week or two 
these things seemed useless, Gilbert having 
been for some time over-worked and under-fed. 
One marvelled that Mr. Strode did not bring on 
one of his dangerous attacks, but it seemed to Gil- 
bert when he opened his eyes and saw him again 
that he was frailer, more bent, more childish. 

‘Well, my boy!’ he cried joyfully, approaching 
the bed. ‘ Make haste and get well, now, eh } 
Your poor old father has been long enough 
without you. ’ 

It was a beautiful, lovable father this though, 
Gilbert thought, who patted the pillows with a 
helpless attentiveness, his eye dewy with emotion. 

Gilbert progressed very slowly towards recovery 
and Mr. Strode did his very best to vary the 
tedium of the day. But his son did not respond, 
he lay still and answered when he was spoken to, 
he said ‘thank you ’ when things were given to 
him, and smiled with a politeness that was 
baffling. It was hard, he thought perhaps, that 
he had lived. 

‘ What is the matter with him } ’ cried Mr. 
Strode impatiently. 


UGLY IDOL 


139 


* It takes time,’ said the doctor. ‘You must 
leave a man to recovery in his own way you 
know. Er — he is perhaps nervous, easily upset } ’ 

‘ Oh no, I assure you, never was ill in his life, 
never had my nerves ! ’ 

‘ Had mental worry lately though ? ’ 

‘ No. Oh, I kept everything that could disturb 
him from him,’ said Mr. Strode hastily. 

Then he went to Gilbert and asked him why 
he still lay in bed, he, his father wanted him, 
missed him, could not get on without him, and 
Gilbert sat up and said that he was much better. 
He thought, too, of the household books and 
accounts, he remembered the state they had been 
in when he had gone over them before he was 
taken ill, and all day long the detestable subject 
haunted him persistently. He calculated the 
expense of his illness and — it was very hard that 
he had not died, he was so near it, and it would 
have been so easy. It would be easy still, so 
very easy; one would fall asleep never to wake : 
unutterable bliss ! never to wake. He did not 
sleep much, but still he had the sensation of 
waking. He felt it coming, dreaded it, tried to 
evade it, but still it came, a big thing, a ghoul, 
with the myriad faces of life smirking over its 
shoulder. And yet it could be so easily evaded, he 
could sleep so that it would never happen again. 

‘Well, Gilbert, my boy, how are you this 
morning.?’ His father. No, it was evident he 
must accustom himself to the waking. There 
was his father. 


140 


UGLY IDOL 


One morning he gave Martha the key of his 
desk and told her to bring it to him; she only 
obeyed after a good deal of resistance. He 
opened it slowly and turned over the accounts ; 
he was angry to find that the figures jumped and 
danced before his eyes, and he saw stars instead 
of them. One — two, and at that his pencil twirled 
in the air, when the book was snatched from him. 
The doctor had unfortunately discovered him. 

‘ None of that. ’ 

‘ I am afraid I must. ’ 

* Pooh, my dear fellow, nonsense. Consider 
others. I don’t suppose they want another dose 
of nursing. You will be well enough in a week 
for this sort of thing — otherwise, not for a month 
or two. ’ 

Gilbert’s eye still rested on the book. 

‘ No use worrying about it. You must have a 
holiday. The longer the better.’ 

^ I suppose so. ’ 

' You will be all right once you are away. The 
country is delightful in early summer. ’ 

‘Yes,’ said Gilbert with a polite smile. 

He had noticed that his father’s manner towards 
him, affectionate as it was, was curious. He 
blushed, hesitated, ruflfied his hair, and finally 
went away without having said what was evidently 
in his mind. Gilbert waited in feverish anxiety 
for it to come, and when his father appeared that 
afternoon with an odd, half-eager, half-frightened 
expression on his face, he saw that it was coming 
at last, and tried to look as if he suspected nothing. 


UGLY IDOL 


141 

‘What! not up? Not so well to-day ? ’ 

‘ I did not know what time it was.’ 

‘ Oh — ah, Gilbert 1 ’ Mr. Strode hung his head 
a moment. ‘ Gilbert, we are,’ he cried excitedly, 
‘ we are completely done for.’ 

Gilbert clutched the bed-clothes. 

‘ Bent has threatened to foreclose. He has only 
allowed us a month. Gilbert, you will not see me 
ruined; you will help me, my boy. I haven’t a 
penny, you know. We must do something, do 
something, eh? What? Why should I be a 
prey to all these misfortunes?’ babbled the old 
man, on his knees beside the bed. 

Gilbert had not a word to say, and his father 
did not know how to go on. He was acting, but, 
as usual, sincerely ; he knew that it was all settled 
and arranged, but at that moment he felt as if 
blank privation still stared them in the face. 
Why was the boy so indifferent? 

‘ Gilbert,’ he said, a little petulantly ; ‘ I — I have 
an idea. Are you attending? You don’t care, 
apparently. I might have known, you ’ 

‘No, no, I was thinking. What is your idea? 
Your ideas — are always better — than anyone 
else’s.’ 

‘Yes,’ said Mr. Strode, glancing up. ‘ It is a 
very good idea. My dear boy, I have long noticed 
that you are very fond of Ella, and I thought 
that perhaps — she has money — it would save us 
if you ’ 

‘ If I married her? ’ 

‘Yes, yes. Have you been thinking of it? 


142 


UGLY IDOL 


How fortunate. Tegart-Hoare has really behaved 
very nicely. He has helped us as regards Bent, 
but I feel under no obligations to him, because 
he wants our name, you know, he ! he ! He is a 
sly beggar. Afterwards, when you are in Henry’s 
shoes, eh, Gilbert? She is a nice girl. Her 
money will make us quite comfortable. And so 
you really love her, my boy?’ 

Gilbert gazed at the foolish, cunning face at the 
bedside. ‘Yes, yes,’ he murmured, ‘I will — 
marry Ella.’ 

His father rose, looking bright and happy. 

‘ Think what her money will be to us ! I was 
never meant for poverty. I can’t stand it ! I am 
delighted, Gilbert. It is as good as a book. I 
am sure it will hasten your recovery. We shall 
have a good deal to do, you know.’ 

Gilbert’ turned away from the radiant face and 
lay over to the wall. Mr. Strode was extremely 
astonished when in the evening his son was worse 
— had, in fact, a relapse, that pulled him back to 
where he had been a week or two ago. 

‘ He has been agitated, and I thought I told 
you to be careful, or else you will find it dragging 
on and settling into chronic invalidism.’ 

‘ I gave him some news I did not think could 
do him any harm. Joy never kills, you know,’ 
returned Mr. Strode, too happy to pay much 
attention to the doctor’s threat. 

When Gilbert was better again Mrs. Tegart- 
Hoare came to see him, and was very kind, very 
impressive. First of all she prayed in thanks for 


UGLY IDOL 


143 


his recovery, and wished him to repeat a prayer 
after her. He was, however, seized with such a 
fit of coughing that it was found impossible. 

‘ My dear Gilbert, I understand that you wish 
my daughter in marriage. This pleases me — in 
fact, I feel that I cannot thank God enough for 
having brought such a worthy man across Ella’s 
path. We all of us, indeed, feel a deep joy at 
the circumstances, and I need not say that her 
happiness is complete. We must only now pray 
for your entire recovery; and it is indeed a 
pleasure to think that we can be of any service to 
your father.’ 

Gilbert winced. 

‘ I will endeavor to be a good husband to her,’ 
he said. 

‘ Oh, I am sure, quite sure, that her future will 
be happy with you. She is a good girl, Gilbert. 
I have brought her up at my side, and feel that 
she will make your home what it ought to be. 
Of course, I need not say that since I have seen 
you together I have observed you, and have seen 
that you are thoroughly worthy of taking your 
place in our family.’ 

The good creature smiled a circular smile, half 
composed of arching mouth, half of creased chin. 
She was not conscious of any condescension or 
patronage. 

^ She will have no need to complain of her 
position in our family,’ said Gilbert haughtily. 

Mrs. Tegart-Hoare suspected him of saying 
something of which she did not quite approve. 


144 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ Well, I am afraid you are tired now, so I will 
leave you,’ she remarked. She paused to bestow 
her first kiss on his forehead before she went. 

He listened to her going downstairs, and sat 
in nervous fear lest she should return, but she 
remained there for half an hour talking to Mr. 
Strode. 

Gilbert took his head in both hands. * If one 
could only be mad, one would be happy. I think 
I have been mad — I remember having been 
happy.’ 

After all, he thought, it was amusing; it was a 
sort of goods transaction. Ella was handed over 
to him or he to her, without his having ever spoken 
to her on the subject; but he would have to 
do it, and he dreaded the passing of days that 
brought it nearer. Still, he looked forward to the 
marriage, feverishly, anxiously, he wished it over ; 
then he would write to Theresa and tell her to 
announce it everywhere, and Agatha would be 
safe. That, at the bottom of his heart, was his 
motive ; on the top of his heart, new comfort for 
his father, who was getting frailer, much frailer. 
He should not suffer any more — not, any way, 
from want. He depended upon Gilbert almost 
entirely now ; he came to his son confidingly, 
patted his knee, and pointed out how he would do 
this and that when they were better off. ‘ Eh, 
Gilbert?’ he said gladly. ‘It’s most fortunate, 
is n’t it? ’ 

One day Ella came to visit Gilbert, soon after 
her mother had been. As she entered the room 


UGLY IDOL 


145 


it seemed to him that she walked even more 
heavily than formerly, that she carried about with 
her an atmosphere of busy unrest. Her brown 
eyes looked straight at him, frankly, lovingly, 
with a simple, open regard that had something 
grand in it. But he looked at her mouth, and 
wished her teeth were not so big ; he was sure 
they had grown since he last saw them. 

‘ I am so sorry you have been ill. I have been 
dreadfully anxious. But I thought you were 
better? Ought you to be out of bed?’ 

‘ Why, yes, one gets tired of bed sometimes. 
I am much better, thanks.’ He was more than 
usually stiff and cold, ju.st because he was trying 
to be very nice, for he had made up his mind to 
be as nice to her as possible. Since he was going 
to marry her he owed her that. 

‘ You don’t look comfortable,’ she went on 
prosaically, and she began with her instinct of 
nursing and arranging to settle the cushions 
with deft enough fingers. 

‘Thank you, you are always doing things for 
other people, Ella, don’t you tire of it?’ 

‘ No, — not when it ’s for you.’ 

‘ Really? ’ 

‘ Of course ’ 

He paused; the dreaded moment had come, 
he was going to bind himself deliberately, irrev- 
ocably; a last tumult of regrets rushed through 
him, and vague ideas of still saving himself hov- 
ered in his mind. Perhaps she would say no ; the 
humors of the situation in this event occurred 


10 


146 


UGLY IDOL 


to him for a moment, and then he took her^ hand 
to attract her attention. 

‘ Then if I asked you to be my wife and do 

things for me always, you would say ’ he 

murmured hoarsely. 

‘Yes, Gilbert.’ 

In spite of himself, the quiet dignity of her 
answer moved him to a little admiration of her. 
Then, he thought, how lucky it was that she was 
plain and prosaic, and gave the answer with no 
tremor of sentiment in her voice. 

Of course she had looked forward to this as 
the inevitable consequence of her long and close 
acquaintance with him, no doubts had ever 
troubled her. He was grave and upright, a fine 
man as she knew him, whom she respected and 
admired, and it made no difference to her that 
he was wan and aged by illness : it simply gave 
her the additional joy of looking after him. To 
be his wife was to her a proud and possible 
ambition ; nothing in her world was impossible, 
for the impossible was not worth thinking about. 

‘ You will miss a lot of things you have in your 
present life,’ he said with some qualms. ‘Are 
you quite sure, Ella?’ 

‘ Sure about what? ’ 

‘About the change, and you will have — a 
broken-up fellow to look after ’ 

Ella laughed heartily. ‘ What an idea,’ she 
said ; ‘ why Edwin is often ill ! ’ 

‘And remember — we may as well go all over 
it now — I don’t agree with your mother on some 


UGLY IDOL 


147 


subjects. I shall never interfere with you or her, 
but I shall expect her to treat me with the same 
respect’ 

‘ You mean that yo'u are n’t religious, Gilbert? ’ 

‘ Not, at least, in her way.’ 

‘You aren’t Sin Atheist f * she asked, realizing 
only this other kind of fanaticism. 

‘ Certainly not,’ he went on patiently. ‘ But I 
do not go in for prayer-meetings and all that sort 
of thing, you know, there are other ways. I am 
afraid it sounds unkind, — and it makes a difference 
to you, Ella? ’ 

‘ I know you are different, but perhaps it is 
because you are so clever. Father always says 
I am stupid, I have grown up in it, you see, and 
I never thought particularly about it. Will you 
want me to change things?’ 

‘ No, no, you will do as you have always done, 
unless anything happens after.’ 

She thought him a little cold, but that was 
always his manner, and she did not like emotional 
people. Perhaps, after all, he was less distant 
to-day than usual; or perhaps it was because he 
was ill. 

‘ I wish you looked better, can’t I do something 
for you?’ She floundered round him aimlessly. 

‘ I' shall be all right in a week or two, and 
Stanley is very nice. He has given me two 
months from the day we leave town, at the end 
of which he will raise me to old Cooke’s place.’ 

‘ I am sure you won’t be strong enough. Do 
you need to go back to the office at all? Isn’t 
my money enough for us to live on? ’ 


148 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ No,’ he answered, with a red streak crossing 
his forehead. 

She sat down and admired him. 

Then there was a great bustle about going 
away. Gilbert was asked where he would like to 
go to, and he indifferently mentioned some places 
at hazard, but Mrs. Tegart-Hoare unfortunately 
discovered that each had a serious drawback. 
She went on sundry expeditions into the country, 
and returned to pour into the ears of her family 
the history of each house to let she had visited. 
Gilbert at first thought it necessary to show an 
interest in her complicated explanations, but 
Marmaduke said to him, ‘ Don’t worry, just leave 
her alone. She is quite happy if you grunt at 
every semi-colon, and nod at the full-stops.’ 
Marmaduke himself was obliged to accompany 
her, and on the whole found it more entertaining 
than his drowsy life at home. 

Mrs. Tegart-Hoare was also busy house-hunt- 
ing in London ; it was difficult to find a suitable 
house that was not too dear ; she impressed upon 
Ella the fact that she was entering into poverty. 
Furniture must be seen, a note-book of arrange- 
ments settled, so that the two ladies were very 
busy, and Mr. Strode was as happy as the day 
was long, for they had much need of his opinion. 
But he frightened Gilbert by returning very tired 
in the evening, sleeping badly and showing a 
great fear of the night ; he would not go to bed 
till twelve or one, unless removed by Martha. 

Gilbert, by doctor’s orders, was kept out of all 


UGLY IDOL 


149 


this business, but when he heard by chance that 
Mrs. Tegart-Hoare was settling on a house for 
him, he went to see it without delay, decided that 
it was much too near West Kensington, and 
refused to take it. Mrs. Tegart-Hoare stared at 
him in stupefaction. 

‘ But I think it is the very house for you, so 
near us too. ’ 

‘Yes,’ murmured the eldest son, foreseeing 
pleasant evenings to spend there. 

But Gilbert proved unwarrantably obstinate, 
so Mrs. Tegart-Hoare, perceiving that his illness 
had upset his mental equilibrium, decided to 
remove him at once to the country, which proved, 
after all, to be Marmaduke’s own estate. In 
the meantime, knowing much better than Gilbert, 
poor dear boy, could possibly do in his present 
condition, she would take the house and furnish 
it. But he before the whole family said, ‘ I do 
not wish to disagree, but I do not care for the 
arrangement of the house at all. Ella has told 
me of another which seems more suitable, 
cheaper, and better in every way. ’ 

‘ My dear boy, pray don’t worry; I have much 
more experience than you in the matter : I am 
perfectly certain that this one will delight you 
after. It is for your good that I am acting. ’ 

‘ I don’t doubt it, but — in fact, I have written 
to the landlord of the other. ’ 

‘ Never mind, I can easily put him off,’ she 
answered with a beaming amiable smile. 

Gilbert sank back in hopeless, aimless anger. 


UGLY IDOL 


150 

a moisture under his eyes and on his forehead, 
a tremble round his mouth; Ella had learned to 
know these signs. 

She stood up and knocked over her chair. 

‘ We don’t care for it, mother, the other one 
is much better suited to us. ’ 

^Ella-h.?’ 

‘ Gilbert likes it better anyway,’ she said with 
a touch of dignity. ‘ As we are to live in it we 
ought to choose. I intend to take the other. ’ 

‘ But — it ’s so far away. ’ 

* Gilbert wishes it,’ said Ella conclusively, and 
she remained mistress of the situation. 

' Is it worth troubling about ’ asked Mr. 
Strode nervously. 

‘ Distinctly it is, ’ murmured Tegart-Hoare with 
a chuckle. ‘ Ella intends to be mistress of her 
own house like her mother, but she appears to 
consider her husband to be the master of it, 
which is extraordinary. ’ 

The marriage was to be hurried on as quickly 
as possible; Mrs. Tegart-Hoare dreaded the 
frivolity it entailed, wished it over and her 
daughter settled down. Mr. Strode was over- 
come with an odd nervous hurry, and Gilbert 
felt it a cloud hanging over him and wished it 
were all finished. The only impediment was his 
slow recovery; he had not the air proper to a 
bridegroom, but the interval was unutterably 
tedious. 

His position as Ella’s accepted lover was ex- 
tremely unpleasant to him ; she was always with 


UGLY IDOL 


151 

him, always with him, and though he tried to 
enjoy her company, her faults became very 
flagrant and annoyed him. He told himself that 
she was a very good woman with many estimable 
qualities, a better wife than he deserved, oh yes, 
all that. He only wished that the marriage was 
over, then it could not be helped; now he still 
entertained foolish, half-mad ideas of escape 
which it took him all his time to control. 

‘ What is the matter with you } try to look 
more cheerful, one would think you were plunged 
in the deepest misery instead of the most happy 
circumstances, ’ said his father. ‘ I have to keep 
making excuses for you, — it’s — it’s a great 
trial to me.’ 

‘ I am sorry, but I suppose one can’t help an 
unfortunate physiognomy. ’ 

' No, no, of course not, of course not,’ said Mr. 
Strode absently. * By-the-way I have a letter from 
Henry here, he wants to see you to-morrow. He 
won’t see me — the old ass — and declares that 
gout won’t let him move from his hotel.’ 

‘ What does he want to see me for.'* ’ 

^ Don’t know, don’t know I ’m sure. Money 
I fancy — eh .^* ’ 

This ill-omened word fell heavily on Gilbert’s 
ear, and next day he went to see his uncle very 
unwillingly. 

Henry was as much like a worn-out shaving- 
brush in appearance as he had ever been. He 
remarked that Gilbert looked ghoulish, and that 
his old vagabond of a father fully merited his 


152 


UGLY IDOL 


reverses. Gilbert coldly interrupted that he was 
not accustomed to hear his father spoken of in 
that manner in his presence, and that everything 
had been satisfactorily arranged. Henry, taking 
no notice of this, went on to say that his nephew 
had been a fool not to come to him before, that 
he could not allow his heir to hold the ignominious 
position of living on his wife’s money, and that 
he would consequently make an allowance of so 
much, for the sake of family pride only. His 
hatred of Mr. Strode could not be restrained for 
long: he said, ‘ Well, he has killed his wife and 
done his best to ruin his son. ’ 

Gilbert answered that he could do without the 
allowance offered in such a spirit, that he stood 
in no need of it. 

‘ You will take what I give you, damn you, and 
you will use that, ’ chucking down a cheque, ‘ for 
going abroad on. You have no say in the matter. 
I ’m not moved by affection, I hate to think that 
my heir is an unpresentable object. And now 
you may go. ’ 

So they parted with a mutual regard for each 
other. 

Next day Gilbert endured a journey in a train, 
and Ella’s and Mrs. Tegart-Hoare’s attendance 
upon him. The combined circumstances sent 
him to bed for some days, and then the amount 
of nursing he received caused him to get up in 
self-defence and wander in search of peace. The 
eldest son was sympathetic. ‘ There ’s a place be- 
hind the tubs in the conservatory, ’ he said, * where 


UGLY IDOL 


15a 

I used when ill — ’ he touched his pocket-Bible 
gently — ‘ you — er — won’t mention it — er ? ’ 

‘ Oh certainly not, ’ returned Gilbert gratefully, 
and he betook himself thither. 

The county called and on one or two occasions 
Gilbert was visible, but Mrs. Tegart-Hoare 
pinned him in a corner and introduced him to 
such as she approved of. He saw some nice 
people to whom he was only allowed to say a 
word or two. Every one, of course, was charmed 
with Mr. Strode, and Gilbert felt proud of his 
father as he watched him conversing easily over 
the tea-cups; his eye dwelt again, with a new 
pleasure on the charming smile, the jumping 
white hair and graceful gestures. 

The marriage was called ‘ very simple, ’ but 
Gilbert thought it a long and gorgeous ceremony, 
and the ‘ very few ’ guests seemed to fill the big 
drawing-rooms. Ella did not look well in white, 
but he told her that her dress was beautiful, and 
she was very pleased. She looked stout and 
robust beside him, and her vivid coloring em- 
phasized his leanness and paleness. No one, not 
even the county paper, had much effusive praise 
to bestow upon either of them. Frank was there 
and ate most of the almond icing. 

‘ A marriage is an awfully swagger show and 
all that,’ he said to Gilbert with his mouth full, 

‘ when it ’s not your own. They look the next- 
door thing to convicts, the ones that are being 
married, I mean.’ 

It was done, and Gilbert felt a dull sense of 


154 


UGLY IDOL 


relief. As soon as possible, he disappeared be- 
hind the tubs, very glad that the honeymoon, 
which had been projected for appearance’s sake, 
was rendered impossible by the weather. Ella 
did not seem to have any superstitious feeling 
about honeymoons, nor any great love of tour- 
ing. ‘ Gilbert can’t go out in this weather,’ she 
said with something that sounded like a sigh of 
relief. So he went to the conservatory, and found 
the weather depressing. He was not a man who 
could make sunshine out of what life offered him, 
he must have his own particular kind of sunshine 
or none at all. That was how he saw Ella’s worst 
points, and all Agatha’s very beautiful virtues. 
He sat a while behind the tubs in solitude. 

And the butterfly sailed away, out of reach 
over the hill. Adieu, adieu ! petit papillon bleu ! 
The next day, in the study, business was dis- 
cussed, several papers signed and so on. Mr. 
Strode was very stupid about it, he did not com- 
prehend what was said to him, he seemed very 
deaf and said, ‘ What! what! ’ continually. He 
fidgeted and lost his temper, and when all was 
finished, he jumped up with alacrity. ‘ Now, 
Gilbert — ’ when he hesitated and fell back in his 
chair unconscious. This happened at a most un- 
fortunate time, for Gilbert, knowing that some 
such catastrophe must happen soon, had been in 
a hurry to get back to his own house in town 
before it occurred, and now 

The doctor shook his head. ‘ I doubt ’ he 

began. ‘ He live, I say it,’ shouted Gilbert, 


UGLY IDOL 


155 


and Ella gazed at her husband in alarm. She 
put her hand on his, ‘We must trust in God/ she 
said simply. 

‘ We must get another nurse,’ he answered 
with unconscious brutality. 

Mrs. Tegart-Hoare somehow, in spite of her 
efforts to raise a proper affection, found herself 
kept at arm’s length by the new member of her 
family, and she began to suspect that he would be 
difficult to manage. She was astonished at the 
energy he suddenly developed, was a little an- 
noyed by it, and told him soothingly that he 
really bothered too much, one could only pray. 

‘ He is my father. Do you not understand.^ ’ 
and then he went on to say, politely, that she did 
not need to stay at Farniston on his father’s 
account, since she had so much business awaiting 
her in London. She looked at him and obeyed. 
She had been saying that her duties in town 
could wait until dear Mr. Strode was better. 
She had, however, conveyed to the household that 
this was an unusual sacrifice on her part. So 
Gilbert begged her to sacrifice herself no more, 
and since she was not the chief mistress of the 
situation, she complied with his request. 

‘ You must write every day, and tell me every- 
thing, ’ she said as she kissed those of her family 
she was leaving behind. Gilbert bore the caress 
with frigid gravity, fully determined that it should 
be the last. Then he showed himself master of 
the house to such a degree that every one did his 
bidding without demur, and Mr. Strode, with the 


56 


UGLY IDOL 


aid of the best nursing, the closest attendance, 
and his own elasticity of constitution, partially 
recovered. His remembrance of things, particu- 
larly of recent events, was very vague; but he 
smiled whenever he saw Gilbert. 

‘ Yes, yes, this is my son, ’ he murmured, patting 
the hand extended to him, and Gilbert came away 
with a bright light shining in his eyes. 

As soon as possible they took him up to Lon- 
don, and then they went abroad. He recovered 
marvellously, the doctors said, and he ruled the 
household completely as his humors and fads 
came back to him. Ella regretted it at first; 
but she fell under the influence of his charm, and 
stood with great good-humor his sharp attacks of 
temper, his growing suspicion of her. And she 
thought it very nice that Gilbert, such a stern, 
precise man, should be so gentle, so untiringly 
patient with him. 

Ella was a happy person. She loved her 
husband, all the more because he grew ‘ fiky, ’ 
and engendered habits. She even helped him in 
this, perhaps, by continually favoring his likes 
and dislikes. She saw little of him when they 
came home ; but her life was full of other things, 
which generally had some connection with him. 
Bed-socks, for instance. She only regretted his 
passive, unbending opposition to her mother, and 
Mrs. Tegart-Hoare, who had looked forward to 
ruling and managing this household, came to the 
conclusion that, after all, it was as well that 
Gilbert had chosen the house furthest away. 


CHAPTER VII 


Theresa lingered in town until she heard that 
Gilbert was better. Then she started with her 
brother for the cottage they had by the seaside. 
It was a nice place, standing alone with a planta- 
tion of trees round it, on the edge of a cliff, and 
it had a little bay to itself. Lester, contrary to 
his usual habit, was distraught and lonely, and did 
not seem to find his ordinary pleasure in the sea. 
It had been his custom to lie on the cliff, the blue 
sky above him, the blue sea below, enjoying the 
wide vista of glowing color. Ever since he was 
a boy he had done that, and when Theresa had 
asked him what he was doing, he said simply 
' It is so blue, is n’t it blue ? ’ and he stretched up 
his hand with an expressive gesture that made 
the sky of much more import to her than it had 
ever been before. She saw in it a width, an 
unutterable depth, a magnificence. . . . When a 
storm came he went indoors, and watched from 
the drawing-room windows. The premonitory 
finger of it swept over the sky in a long streak 
of black cloud, and others, white, rolled up 
from the horizon heavily. The sea turned gray, 
fretted into a myriad wrinkles by an insolent 
wind. Then each wave tossed up white, and they 


UGLY IDOL 


158 

rushed against the rocks, great-devouring, relent- 
less beasts, roaring with impotent fury, foaming, 
lashing, clawing, retreating with a backward suck 
for a fresh onslaught. All that, Lester pointed 
out to Theresa from the window. These things 
had never before ceased to interest him. It was 
generally new, unknown things that tired him; 
he clung affectionately to old surroundings, and 
never wished for any others. Perhaps, having 
grown accustomed to Agatha’s company, to have 
had her continually his chief object of thought, 
he missed her, and found his life dull without 
her. Theresa, whose only business was to attend 
upon her brother, was infected by his spirit of 
disquiet, and worried all day long to find occu- 
pations for him. He liked gardening, and took 
a great pride in his roses ; but this year his in- 
terest flagged, and none of her feints could rouse 
it. He was also fond of sailing, and often went 
out in his boat, Theresa, of course, always with 
him. It was, in fact, an ideal life they had led' 
there hitherto in perfect companionship and free- 
dom ; but Theresa felt that she had carried the 
unrestful atmosphere of town away with her this 
time, and she feared, from Lester’s behavior, 
that he was pondering over some new idea, and 
would suddenly insist upon returning to his big 
studio, and plunging into work. 

She was thinking about it one morning as she 
raked and weeded, presenting an odd figure in 
a big hat, an apron of canvas, and large earthy 
gloves. A ball of twine protruded from one 


UGLY IDOL 


159 


pocket, three or four packets of seeds from 
another, and she wore a pair of sabots she had 
bought in France. She had not the youth and 
beauty that looks well in such attire. 

She expended her anxiety upon James, a 
willing old servant, and said to herself as she 
tied up sweet peas, U really think James is getting 
too old. Old servants are a great mistake. ’ 

It was one of those phrases that people cannot 
live without. Mrs. Tegart-Hoare’s was, * I must 
change the drawing-room curtains. ’ 

‘ Theresa ! ’ Lester called over the laurel hedge, 
and she went quickly, accompanied by two pup- 
pies who snapped at her heels at every step. 

‘ Dogs ! ’ she said, aimlessly kicking from side 
to side as she walked, * I can’t have it. There ’s 
a glove,’ and she threw it away, watching them 
run after it, with soft loose legs that flounced 
about with fhe uncertain grace of the skirt- 
dancer. 

Lester met her, with his hands full of roses, 
smiling with pleasure at the color of them. 

‘ This, ’ he said, taking a little bud and caressing 
it with a dainty finger, ‘ what a wonderful thing it 
is, is n’t it ? Look at the warmth of the life in it ; 
this deep orange, the yellow, the green tints, just 
unfurling and unfurling till it reaches its full- 
blown beauty. How does it know how to grow, 
to swell, to unroll its leaves, to pack them up so 
tightly.? ’ 

He gazed at it in a pleasant current of 
thought. 


r6o 


UGLY IDOL 


Theresa laid the others in a pocket. 

'This yellow rose/ Lester went on dreamily, 

* would suit her, it would go with her pale hair * 

' Who } ’ queried Theresa sharply. 

‘Agatha, don’t you think so.^ ’ 

‘Yes, perhaps it would.’ 

He talked about Agatha so simply and openly, 
that it never occurred to his sister to suspect that 
he regarded her in any way differently to other 
women, whose beauty had struck him. Perhaps 
he did not. 

He remained lost in thought, twisting the bud 
about in his fingers, and she heard him murmur 
‘ Genevra. ’ 

She had hoped that this idea was forgotten; 
since he had torn his picture to pieces he had 
never mentioned it to her, and she felt a shiver 
run through her as the ill-omened subject re- 
claimed his attention. 

‘We had better put these roses in water,’ she 
said sadly, and turned away. 

‘ Wait, let me put this here. ’ He fastened the 
bud, smiling the while, on the front of her coarse 
apron. To him she was neither plain nor absurd, 
he never criticised her, never connected her in 
any way with his art; she was his well-loved 
sister, who, ever since he could remember, had 
been at his side, to whom he turned for all his 
wants, who sheltered him from the storms of life. 

So she turned to go into the house, in her big 
hat and sabots, the little bud fastened to her apron. 

‘ Dogs ! ’ she suddenly shouted, and ran as fast 


UGLY IDOL 


6i 


as her heelless shoes would permit, to her two 
puppies who were busy digging up the bed she had 
just made. Perceiving her, they sat down side by 
side, arid regarded her with big sentimental eyes. 
A torn plant still dangled from the solemn mouth 
of one. 

‘ Who did that.? ’ 

The puppies regarded the hole in innocent 
surprise, then suddenly eight unsteady legs and 
two waving tails whirled round her in a loose- 
jointed ecstasy of delight, and in half a moment 
the lawn was strewn with chewed roses, tangled 
twine and- seeds. Theresa and the two puppies 
were at last brought to a standstill by a connection 
of ravelled string, and gazed helplessly round for 
aid in the midst of the destruction. 

‘Untie me, James,’ said Theresa. 

The old man approached cautiously, muttering 
that the beasts would be the killing of them all 
some day. They went away with him; they 
often walked with James, finding that his slow 
gait facilitated the playing of hide-and-seek be- 
tween his legs. This was particularly enjoyable 
when he carried such a thing as a tea-tray. He 
said that he was not fond of them, he called 
them ‘ damned, mischievous, destructive brutes ’ 
to the gardener, and polished their collars every 
Friday with the silver. 

Theresa loved her puppies because they 
furnished her with continual occupation of a kind 
that did not allow time for morbid reflections, 
and they returned her love with open devotion 


UGLY IDOL 


162 

that was very satisfying. They ran to meet her 
whenever she appeared, or searched for her when 
she did not come, walloped round her feet with 
an emotional and dental affection she could have 
dispensed with, gazed up into her eyes with 
sentiment, broad smiles upon their faces. They 
destroyed the garden, tore things in the house, 
were always audible, and were apt to appear in 
the drawing-room, curveting and mincing, dis- 
playing with pride ghastly scraps that the butcher 
of the village had thrown away. Theresa gave 
them castor-oil every Saturday. They growled 
and quarrelled, they made all the noise in the 
village fights, seated at a safe distance, and went 
to sleep over the hearth-brush, one at each end, a 
tuft of colored hair sprouting from each mouth. 

‘ They ’re so much nicer than children,’ Theresa 
told Mrs. Yorke, ‘and so much less trouble.’ 

‘My dear!’ murmured this lady, who' theo- 
retically loved children and adored babies, al- 
though the only remark she had been heard to 
address to the former was, ‘ Now, darling, run 
away and play. ’ 

When the puppies slept, the house rested. ‘ Sh ! 
don’t wake the dogs,’ one said then, and even 
Theresa enjoyed these moments of quiet. Lester, 
also, was very fond of them, and sat on the lawn 
playing with them, laughing as he seldom laughed 
at other things, and with the high-bred discrim- 
ination of their kind they were never unbecom- 
ingly mischievous in his presence. 

Theresa and Lester led a happy life in this quiet 


UGLY IDOL 


163 

house, in the midst of its gardens and simple 
pleasures. Afterwards Theresa wondered why 
fate could not leave even this nook alone, why 
she must come even here with her meddling fin- 
gers, darkening the sun that had shone there 
peacefully so many years. 

At that moment, with no such thought in her 
mind, she jerked to and fro busily, and having a 
necessity for talking, soliloquized aloud, or carried 
on one-sided conversations with her brother at 
varying distances; or else in the shade of the 
veranda she read to him, while he sketched idly, 
and the puppies gnawed quietly at a stolen shoe. 
Or else again, Theresa in several aprons put on 
unbecomingly before and behind, with sur- 
roundings of soap, towels and scrubbing-brush, 
was endeavoring with the aid of the gardener 
to wash one of these animals in a big tub. On 
these occasions James was careful to shut all the 
doors and windows of the house, for the beast in- 
variably escaped, a shining, soapy, slippery thing 
that made straight indoors for refuge. 

‘ Theresa ! ’ Lester cried once at a critical 
moment. 

‘ Yes, do wait. I ’m washing Adolphus.’ 

‘ Theresa ! ’ called the persistent voice after a 
short interval. She went at once and he kept 
her some time over little matters of no great 
importance. 

‘ I hear sounds in the distance, I must go,’ she 
said at last, and a sticky, soapy animal gambolled 
to meet her, well coated over with ashes from the 
dust-heap, a favorite play-ground. 


164 


UGLY IDOL 


But the joys of these things faded when she saw 
the well-known cloud settle on her brother’s face 
again. She did her best to dispel it, and sug- 
gested a little cruise to distract his thoughts, so 
in the afternoon they went down to the beach, 
and punted out to the lugger in which they sailed 
leisurely about the coast. Theresa would not 
allow him to go alone, partly because they both 
entertained an exaggerated idea of his dependence 
upon her, and p.artly because he was apt to dream 
occasionally and forget to pay attention to his 
sails. She did not even care for him to scramble 
about the rocks in the bay; out at the point the 
water was very deep, the shore shelved and there 
were quicksands. He had been accustomed to 
sailing all his life, but it was too hard work for 
him now to go alone. 

It was delightful out in the boat that day ; a 
little breeze bore them gently along; the coast 
was yellow in the glowing sun ; the sky was blue, 
the sea was blue, the trees very green, the sand 
white, and this vivid blaze of color formed a 
landscape scarcely English. 

Theresa talked, but Lester gave no answer, he 
appeared to be asleep. ‘ You know,’ she went on, 
‘ it is no use puzzling about it, you could paint 
the picture better without Agatha, you are wasting 
time over her, she is incapable of the expressions 
you want, she has n’t got it in her. Why do you 
go on wasting time over her?’ 

‘ I will make her,’ he murmured drowsily. 
Then he woke up and talked about the sea, and 


UGLY IDOL 


165 

all those little things that make conversation 
pleasant. In the evening they returned, Theresa 
heavy of heart, Lester happy and content. 

Next morning, in turning over the letters at 
breakfast, she appeared to James to be in a bad 
humor, and her comments upon her correspond- 
ence were not kind. 

‘ Gilbert — at last. I hope he does n’t write to 
Agatha, he has no one with sense to look after 
him, now that I am out of the way. Decidedly 
my lot in life is to act super and chambermaid in 
every one else’s dramas. Mrs. Yorke, dear me ! ’ 

She proceeded to each one in turn, soliloquizing 
as was her habit while she opened the envelopes. 

‘ Dogs ! ’ she cried, as she unfolded Gilbert’s 
letter, ‘ be quiet, and leave the hearth-brush alone, 
I can’t hear myself speak.’ 

The letter was short and crisp enough. 

‘Dear Theresa, — I am all right again, and 
cannot thank you enough for all your kindness, 
but I shall hope to do so in person when we meet 
again. I have been extremely busy during the 
last month or two, and that must excuse my 
silence. I am married and my father has been 
dangerously ill — (Theresa read this twice, and 
then went on mechanically, without comment). — 
I will not hide from you, that the chief object was 
money, — (here a whole sentence was scratched 
out, and though she investigated it inquisitively 
for some time, she could make nothing out). — 
You may express your sentiments as much as you 
like by letter, should you find my news astonish- 


66 


UGLY IDOL 


ing, but do not mention the subject when I see 
you. And, Theresa, Ella loves me more than I 
deserve. . . . My father is very happy ; he likes 
the society of the doctor, and luckily I can afford 
these luxuries for him now. Our new address is 
below. We are, however, going away, and will 
not be there till autumn.’ 

That was about all it contained, and his writing 
was stiff, as though he had gripped his pen very 
hard. 

Theresa jumped up from the table, absently 
shoved the puppies away from the hearth-brush, 
and sat down to write an answer at once. The 
puppies returned to the brush. 

The first page of her letter bristled with an 
anger that warmed Gilbert to an affectionate smile 
when he read it, but at the end a round watery 
blot attracted his attention, and he put the sheet 
away carefully in his pocket. 

The puppies sat solemnly side by side, their 
fascinated eyes fixed on Theresa’s white hand- 
kerchief. They waited in silence till she dropped 
it, then seized upon it with a squirm of joy and 
galloped out into the garden, mouthing it. Hav- 
ing torn it to pieces, they returned proudly and 
attracted her attention to the pieces. She gave 
them a slap and a lump of sugar. 

In Mrs. Yorke’s letter there was nothing but a 
little gossip. She heard that Gilbert had married 
a Tegart-Hoare, quite a nice girl, though not in 
her set. He was really very wise to marry into a 
family with money. She rambled on for three 


UGLY IDOL 


167 


pages, and at last came to the purpose of her 
writing. The climate in the north did not agree 
with Agatha, who was certainly not well, which 
was a nuisance since she herself was also seedy. 
She was enchanted with Theresa’s description of 
her home and wished to know whether there were 
any nice little houses to let there, if so, she would 
be delighted to settle near friends for the summer. 
Was there any society? 

‘ No,’ growled Theresa. ‘ Certainly none that 
you will care for.’ At this moment Lester entered 
the room, and idly looked over her shoulder to 
see what she was reading. 

‘ Mrs. Yorke wants to come here.’ 

^ To us? That is very nice.’ 

‘ You would like them to come? ’ 

‘ Oh yes — very much.’ 

‘ Here, as guests? ’ 

‘ Do you not mean that? ’ 

‘ If you would like it.’ 

‘ Yes, I would like it’ 

‘ Very well,’ and with a sigh she wrote to invite 
them. 

An effusive answer came a day or two later, 
followed after another interval by Mrs. Yorke’s 
own charming person. 

‘What a delightful place! So secluded and 
peaceful I ’ 

‘ I only hope you won’t find it dull, there is 
nothing to do,’ said Theresa with scant grace. 
‘ We are absolutely idle all day long.’ 

‘ Yet, you have as usual the air of being ex- 


UGLY IDOL 


1 68 

tremely busy/ Mrs. Yorke regarded her hostess’s 
apron and trowel. ‘ One is never dull with you,’ 
she added. 

She continued to be amused during the two 
months she spent there. She sat generally in 
front of the house, a great ornament to the gar- 
den, and Lester was aware that the scenery was 
improved by her; or else she went out in the 
boat, only after a few cautious questions as to 
whether they should not take a man. Theresa 
pottered about as usual, somewhat annoyed to 
find that her soliloquies were always answered, 
and that she was obliged to keep her dogs out of 
the house. Agatha was silent and gentle, and 
Theresa treated her as a nonentity, and, like her 
mother, was rather glad she kept s6 much to her 
room. 

‘You have come?’ Lester said to her. 

She answered, ‘ Yes.’ 

‘ I have not seen you for a long time.’ 

‘ No, such a long time — to me — but you have 
not noticed my absence, you have other things 
to do.’ 

‘ Oh, I have missed you.’ 

‘ Missed me,’ she murmured. He looked at 
her as she stood before him in the green shadow 
of the trees, delicate lights touching her pale hair, 
her white face. 

‘Yes,’ he whispered in delight. ‘ I have missed 
you.’ He drew her down to him and kissed her, 
and seemed to find the same pleasure in gazing at 
her as at a flower. 


UGLY IDOL 


169 

'Very beautiful,’ he cried, his sparkling eyes 
looking through her, beyond her. He held her 
hands, he touched her face with caressing fingers 
and kissed her again. 

‘ You are glad to be with me ? ’ 

'Yes, oh yes. ’ 

'With me, with he urged. 

' But you know I love you. ’ 

He held her hands tightly, drinking in the 
music of her words, watching the green shadows 
flicker on her face. 

‘ I love you, I love you, ’ that was all she had 
to say, and she said it again and again in response 
to his asking eyes. 

Agatha was so quietly happy pursuing her 
way and the course of her passion so calmly, 
without evidence of excitement, that Theresa saw 
nothing, nor yet suspected anything. Lester was 
the last person to raise her suspicions, and having 
taken it into her head that Agatha was capable 
only of commonplace talk and action she would 
have continued in her opinion with very flagrant 
evidences to the contrary under her nose. She 
heard Lester tell Agatha of his meditated next 
picture, she heard her reply that she would sit 
as long as he liked, and she passed by without 
hearing any more of the conversation, or troubling . 
about it. She was glad that Lester had another 
companion : it was a change for him ; her com- 
pany must often tire him, she thought, and she 
noticed that he was better and brighter since the 
arrival of the Yorkes. 


I/O 


UGLY IDOL 


It hurt her a little. ' Y ou are an id iot, Theresa, 
you are growing selfish, a monomaniac, and re- 
member you are only the chambermaid,’ she 
said to herself, and went out and cuddled her 
dogs. 

Mrs. Yorke, having nothing else to do, awoke 
to the fact that Agatha was really very much with 
Lester; she began to wonder, being a conven- 
tional person, whether that was right, considering 
his peculiarities. She thought about it at ease, 
a little surprised, a little put-out that the idea had 
not occurred to her before. She personally dis- 
liked Lester very much when he was not there, 
and she was a little frightened of him in his pres- 
ence because he took no notice of her. But she 
really could not undertake to speak to Agatha 
and make a fuss, Agatha sometimes displayed a 
temper that was quite upsetting. It would, in 
fact, be a relief to have her married, to a genius 
too. So, she said, ‘ I will just let it be, it could n’t 
be better. ’ 

She remembered the many sittings, and deter- 
mined to speak to Theresa on the subject, since 
Lester was so very irresponsible. 

‘ Theresa, I believe you invited us down here 
on purpose. ’ 

‘ What purpose ’ 

‘ Why, you intriguer, for Lester and Agatha to 
be together. ’ 

‘ He enjoys her company.’ 

‘Well, if you put it that way, it ’s the same thing.’ 

‘ Same what ? ’ asked Theresa sharply, mystified. 


UGLY IDOL 


171 

‘ My dear, don’t bite me. It ’s impossible that 
you have n’t remarked it. Why, ever since I have 
been here it has been as plain to me as daylight. 
They are always together, everywhere. It ’s 
horrid, you know, when one grows old to see 
others doing it, but of course I am pleased for 
Agatha’s sake. I never in the least suspected 
such an ambitious turn of things for her. ’ 

‘ I don’t understand,’ said Theresa, following a 
puppy with a corner of her eye. 

‘I believe your attention is riveted on that 
horrid dog!' Mrs. Yorke paused, astonished at 
Theresa’s obtuseness. Besides, the subject was 
always one that one skirted round about, hinted 
delicately, a perfumed lace handkerchief of a 
thing which one dangled with daintiness. Cupid 
is a dressed person ; has wings, and a quiver, and 
a strap to fasten it on by — oh, very much dressed. 
It is impossible to denude him. 

‘Must I be plain Dear me I Well, don’t 
you see that they are practically what you might 
call — engaged } ’ 

‘ Engaged ? ’ repeated Theresa blankly. 

‘Think of all those sittings and things. And 
now, I spoke to Agatha last night. She did not 
contradict me. And just think what people would 
say, after all this, if they were n’t 1 ’ 

‘ Engaged I ’ said Theresa again, and suddenly 
dropping her trowel marched off without another 
word. 

‘ It seems to me that every one is a maniac 
nowadays. I suppose clever people are pre- 


172 


UGLY IDOL 


dominating. I am afraid that I prefer amusing 
people. Agatha was quite mad last night, had 
nothing to say for herself ; and now Theresa, as 
usual, is cracked in her behavior. It ’s lucky 
that I looked into it after all, but it ’s really a 
great nuisance. And it is getting very cold. ’ 
Mrs. Yorke went indoors. 

Theresa went straight off to look for Agatha, 
and, having found her, stood stock-still before her 
without uttering a word. When she spoke it was 
softly, very kindly. She had not much to say. 

‘ Agatha. ’ 

‘ Yes. ’ 

‘ Are you engaged to Lester } ’ 

Agatha stared at her in amazement. 

‘Are you engaged to my brother, because if 
so, I ought to know, you know.^* ’ 

‘ I don’t know, ’ said Agatha dreamily. 

‘What!’ 

‘ I love him. ’ 

‘ Ah, then it ’s true 1 ’ 

‘Yes, oh yes,’ said Agatha with sudden eager- 
ness, and, taking Theresa’s hand in hers, she 
added, ‘ And he loves me. ’ 

Theresa said nothing. She looked at Agatha, 
and had a glimmering now of what Lester admired 
in her. She was distressed, and gently disengaged 
herself from the retaining hand. She seemed 
about to speak, but she hesitated, and finally 
sighed, without any remark. 

‘I hope it’s all right,’ she murmured as she 
went away, carrying with her a picture of Agatha’s 


UGLY IDOL 


173 


face. ‘ No, it is all wrong ! ’ Then she went out 
for a long walk with her dogs. She was away a 
long time, and when she came back and heard 
that Lester had been asking for her, the same 
irresolution came on her face. He welcomed her 
eagerly, and wanted to know why she had gone 
away without telling him, and for so long. 

‘ No, no,’ she said to herself ; ‘ not yet, not now. ’ 
After this the atmosphere of the household.became 
perturbed. Theresa was abstracted, moody, and 
sad, and Mrs. Yorke felt awkward. 

So in the end of September it grew cold, the 
leaves began to fall, and Mrs. Yorke found it 
melancholy. Theresa said she liked autumn in 
the country better than any other season of the 
year. The red leaves and purple tinge of the 
baring trees seemed to her an exquisite combina- 
tion, and she liked the still decay of things. 

‘Ghoul!’ replied Mrs. Yorke, with a twirl of 
her umbrella. ‘ You won’t care for these things 
when you grow older. It reminds you of death, 
and that all things end,’ she shuddered. 

Lester was beginning to suffer from the damp 
weather and to weary of his idleness, so they 
determined to return to town. 

Although the puppies had attained a certain 
state of sobriety, it was impossible that both 
should accompany their mistress, and with many 
pangs she resolved to part with one, and spent 
much time in discussing to whom she could trust 
him. At last she decided to send him to Gilbert, 
and forthwith despatched him, without asking this 


174 


UGLY IDOL 


gentleman whether he wanted a dog or not. She 
wrote a long letter, which seemed to take a great 
deal of thought. She said that the dog’s name 
was Gustavus Adolphus, and that he answered 
to Dauphin, Dolphin, Japhet. He ate Spratt’s 
puppy biscuits, pear-peelings, bread and mustard, 
gooseberries, strawberries, nuts and sweets, 
shoes, pencils, hearth-brushes, and — important 
item — cinders. Then she paused. She remem- 
bered the day when Gilbert had helped her to 
clean the studio; now he was married, and Agatha 
had passed out of his life. But she knew Gil- 
bert. ‘Feelings, full of feelings,’ she snapped 
to herself, and wrote a long letter about Gustavus 
Adolphus. At the end she put, ‘ We are com- 
ing back to town in a week’s time. Agatha’s 
engagement to Lester will be given out. ’ 

‘ Suppose Gilbert doesn’t want the dog.? He 
may find it rather expensive; new house, too,’ 
said Mrs. Yorke dubiously, watching the many 
preparations made for Adolphus’s convenient 
travelling. 

‘ Impossible ! ’ 

‘ But his wife .? ’ 

‘ Wife ! ’ said Theresa, with a nut-cracker snap 
of her jaws. 

‘ I am afraid she is rather a nonentity, and I 
should say that he is a very unpleasant husband. ’ 
‘ Flis appearance is awe-inspiring, luckily. A 
hideous enough Guy Fawkes to keep people from 
.seeing the straw he is stuffed with. ’ 

Mrs. Yorke, in fear of travelling with the 


UGLY IDOL 


175 

remaining puppy, hurried away at once, and 
Theresa did not seek to retain her. 

Agatha told Lester that she would see him 
again very soon ; she took two hours to the say- 
ing of this, and she left him with a glow on her 
cheeks and a perfectly placid brow. 

So Mrs. Yorke and Agatha returned, and then 
Theresa and her brother, and no sooner had they 
arrived than Agatha was always about again, it 
seemed, at least, to Theresa that she was always 
there. Lester filled odd moments by working up 
the Genevra again ; it progressed very slowly and 
sometimes, but seldom, he would sketch Agatha 
roughly in charcoal, generally rubbing it out as 
soon as it was done. His silent patience was well 
known to his sister; he was apparently no longer 
interested in this picture, for he was engaged on 
others, one or two pressing commissions, yet she 
knew that even if it took him ten years he would 
still do it, and she prayed that he might not find 
another who suited him better than Agatha. At 
times, when she thought over it, she wondered 
whether it was not all a concoction of some- 
body’s, if she could not yet snatch Lester back to 
herself, and carry him away to the other end of 
the world. People came and congratulated, and 
she listened dully, answering prosaically that it 
‘would greatly depend on Lester’s health, and 
other circumstances ; she could fix no date, in 
spring probably, May or June. ’ Then she laughed 
to herself, should she tell them that it was all a 
farce ? Lester loved no one but her, and had she 


76 


UGLY IDOL 


not given up her whole life to him? It was 
absurd to connect anything so human as love of 
woman with him, he, who had none of the ordi- 
nary passions of men. Such a simple, simple little 
man, — yet his simplicity had not been respected ; 
Mrs. Yorkeand her daughter had, of course, been 
scheming ; Theresa, if she had only not been so 
blind, could have stopped it all long ago. Surely 
Agatha was only art to him ? Theresa asked 
herself questions in infinite sadness, for, beyond 
a certain point, she knew her brother no better 
than any one else. She watched Agatha, but 
her happy placid exterior was impenetrable; how 
should she be warned that he was not as other 
men ? 

‘If Eve hadn’t been made of Adam’s rib, she 
wouldn’t be attached to him, dear dog, and 
would n’t disturb you and me, ’ she was remarking 
to Marcus, when a visitor came just when she 
was not wanted, and prattled on subjects that 
Theresa felt no interest in just then. 


CHAPTER VIII 


Gilbert was very busy, he made a point of being 
so. He helped Ella and her Anglican aunts, 
but in such a manner as to show them that he 
was not one of them and did not intend to be- 
come so. Mrs. Tegart-Hoare was not often in 
the house of her son-in-law, she preferred that 
Ella should go to her. But still entertaining 
thoughts of Gilbert’s conversion, she sometimes 
went on Saturdays, when she knew he would be 
there. She pervaded the house the moment she 
was inside the door: why did Gilbert hang all 
his coats in the hall ? the new housemaid left dust 
on the stairs; what price did Ella pay for her 
bacon } Her voice faded away in the distance 
as she went upstairs to Ella’s bed-room, and 
servants furtively huddled things into cupboards. 
She visited Mr. Strode, read to him, excited him, 
angered Gilbert, who felt that he had been gently 
scraped with a grater beyond endurance, kissed 
Ella, smiled supremely at the pegs where Gilbert’s 
coats had hung when she arrived, and left texts 
for Ella to paint. 

Immediately after one of these visits, Gilbert 
had taken his wife to see Theresa, but the visit 
had been a failure. Some of Theresa’s most 


12 


78 


UGLY IDOL 


peculiar friends happened to be there, and 
astonished Ella, who had been brought up in the 
very good and solid society which remains in the 
midst of London, provincial. She was shocked; 
and was distressed to note that her husband 
appeared to find himself at home amongst these 
people, that his manner was indeed far less stiff 
than she had seen it before. 

'No, Gilbert,’ she said when they came away, 

'Miss Schelless is your friend, but ’ 

Somehow she seemed to him at that moment 
more stupid, more gauche than ever. 

'I will not force you to know them,’ he 
answered. 'But I have known Theresa all my 

life, and of course I intend ^ 

‘ Oh, of course, ’ assented Ella, but a tone in 
her voice told him she agreed only with reluc- 
tance, and they continued their journey in silent 
displeasure with each other. 

As he took out his latch-key at the corner of 
the street, a little brougham bowled up to the 
door, and to his surprise, his father got out slowly, 
and stood laughing and nodding his head to some 
one inside. Then he made a sweeping bow and 
the brougham went away. 

' Well, Gilbert, ’ he cried, with a radiant smile, 
waving his stick, 'guess who that was.^ ’ 

' Some one I know } ’ asked his son, giving his 
arm to help him up the steps. 

' You did know, any way. Well now, Mrs. 
Yorke, I met her round the corner. Most aston- 
ishing how people turn up, isn’t it, after years 


UGLY IDOL 


179 

of separation ? As charming and as youthful as 
ever, wonderful woman ! ’ 

Gilbert tried to answer with a smile, but Yorke, 
Yorke, always that name — it seemed to dog him 
persistently, and he wanted so to forget it. 

He was not nice at dinner that evening, there 
was nothing to find fault with and this annoyed 
him ; and he was unreasonably provoked that 
his father found such a pleasure in his discovery 
of Mrs. Yorke. He looked back, with opened 
eyes at the days of Campagne Saleve, and at the 
mischief the thoughtless little woman — of course 
it was her fault entirely — had been nigh to mak- 
ing. It pained him that when she came again, 
she was so welcomed. But then, true, if it amused 
his father — Ella unconsciously blundered by re- 
marking that Mrs. Yorke had been to call the 
other day, and that she was very nice, and well- 
dressed. ‘ It was affecting to see how delighted 
she was to meet your father. Are you cross, 
dear.? ’ she added, after gazing at him for a 
moment. 

‘No,’ he replied, with every sign of this state 
of mind upon his face. 

After dinner it entered into his head to wind 
up all the clocks, keeping his wife running for 
this and that incessantly. She had asked him a 
week before to put together some models she was 
making for a bazaar, and suddenly he announced, 
that since he had no particular business to-night, 
he would do them now. She and the servants 
were accustomed to these attacks of busy tidi- 


i8o 


UGLY IDOL 


ness, and Ella liked them for they brought him 
closer to her; on other nights he had so 
often * something to do ’ in the study. Still, she 
suspected that they occurred when he was put- 
out, for he generally looked pained and ill, 
smoked much and answered her coldly when she 
spoke to him. To-night, with a smelling pot 
of glue on the fire, newspapers spread on the 
hearthrug, he turned up his sleeves and investi- 
gated the pieces with an absent and gloomy ex- 
pression. 

‘You are so neat-handed that I thought you 
had better do it, but don’t trouble if you are tired. 
Why don’t you rest sometimes, you are always 
working, is it wise.? — oh, I think it ’s the Eiffel 
Tower, or some such thing. I thought it might 
be raffled — do take care of the carpet, hadn’t 
you better do it in the dining-room .? Oh dear, 

I hear that dog ! ’ 

She bounced up with her usual energy, and ran 
away calling Gustavus Adolphus. She liked the 
dog, and romped with him ; but she wished that 
he were not allowed so much in the house, and 
by sundry complainings had tried to get him 
expelled to the kitchen ; but Gilbert, suspecting 
her of disliking him after the fashion of her 
mother, who sat upon and squashed all things 
she did not approve of, coldly refused. His wife 
therefore spent the first month after the beast’s 
arrival in guarding her household properties. 

Her abrupt departure caused a disturbance in 
his arrangements on the hearthrug; but he made 


UGLY IDOL 


i8i 


no remark. He lifted a weary eyebrow, and felt 
lonely, for his father’s hand trembled too much 
now for him to occupy himself with such neat 
work as he had done formerly. 

Ella returned, breathing hard with her exer- 
cise, and plumped down beside him, fingering the 
pieces and talking. Gilbert confined himself to 
‘ Pass me this, Take hold of that for a moment. 
Don’t shake,’ and so on. 

‘ Would n’t your father like to do this.^ ’ 

‘ I am afraid his hand shakes too much. ’ 

‘What a pity, because I fear he is lonely up 
there all day long. He does not like me, and he 
does not care to have the Bible or any other book 
read to him ; but I suppose I read badly. I read 
so little, and I get so sleepy at night. ’ 

This last phrase penetrated to Gilbert’s wander- 
ing thoughts, and he suddenly became aware that, 
without complaint, she led a very lonely life, and 
passed whole evenings by herself. He glanced 
up; yes, there she was, watching him affection- 
ately, and he, beast, had been as nasty as he could 
be all day. But then, he thought angrily, how 
could she expect him to be nice.? Had he not 
suffered, suffered, . . . did she not continually fret 
and worry him, was not his whole life a failure, 
and she the tangible evidence of it .? 

She caught his eye as he looked up and smiled 
in response. He blushed with shame, and has- 
tened to make up for his negligence. Brute that 
he was, he had no business to inflict his private 
grievances upon her. 


i 82 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ The edifice grows, ’ he remarked pleasantly. 

‘ It ’s quite nice work, is n’t it ? ’ 

‘ Lay the foundation-stone, Ella, to bring it 
good luck.’ 

She did so, laughing the while. 

Then, when they separated for the night, he 
kissed her affectionately. 

' My good wife, ’ he murmured, for sometimes, 
when he awoke to her innocent, single-hearted 
love of him, her tolerance of his caprices, he 
admired her again as on the day that she had 
said, ‘Yes, Gilbert.’ 

But when he looked forward to a long per- 
spective of years to be spent in this way, a cold- 
ness settled on him, and he knew that long before 
the way was half traversed, something would 
happen, or he would go mad. No, he could not 
go on, and on. . . . He felt a hot hatred of all 
around him, a vague desire of vengeance, . . . yes, 
he wanted to revenge himself on something or 
some one, — on whom ? He was almost afraid to 
trust himself in Ella’s company. Perhaps he was 
mad now, — ah no. . . . A big desire to see Agatha 
grew in him; he had not seen her for so long. 
He had kept himself away so scrupulously. That 
was why. He thought of her so often that all 
his thoughts seemed to run into that one groove. 
Or was it Agatha that he dreamt of, or only all 
the beautiful things that, in his life, he had only 
touched with his finger-tips, had only seen far 
away.^ Other people attained all that they 
wished, and he — r- Suddenly he stretched out 


UGLY IDOL 


183 


a clutching hand, and cried, ‘ So I will ! ’ Then 
he dropped his head, and told himself that that 
was impossible. 

Out, across a summer sky, a blue butterfly had 
flown away peacefully over a hill. Adieu! Adieu I 
p’tit papillon bleu! 

And yet, time passed, weeks, perhaps, or months, 
and he dawdled on. He had given up going to 
Theresa, and heard nothing of what passed. He 
was scarcely even missed by Theresa, who was 
too much occupied in her own thoughts to notice 
his absence. No one missed him. Agatha and 
Lester went their way in sublime happiness. Mrs. 
Yorke was pleasantly engaged in planning and 
replanning the marriage. 

But Theresa, not knowing this, was working 
towards the conclusion that the marriage should 
never take place. She would say to people, ‘ Oh, 
it is broken off, ’ and then one would go away and 
shrug a shoulder, and murmur, ‘ It is only a genius.’ 

Many things had brought her to this conclusion. 

She sat outside in the drawing-room, quite 
alone, and she could hear Lester’s voice in the 
stud.’o; h^ was in a passion again. This could 
not go on any longer ; she would have to speak 
to Agatha, to open her eyes, to tell her point- 
blank that he only loved her as something to 
paint; but she had let the time slip by, and every 
moment she was alone with Agatha, she talked 
studiously of other things. For many weeks she 
had heard Lester’s uplifted voice in the studio, 
and knew that the Genevra was failing again. 


184 


UGLY IDOL 


Agatha had sat to him, and sat to him, at 
intervals during the winter. The picture was 
nearly finished, and it did not please him. 

He received Agatha to-day with a troubled 
face, he ran to meet her, and she saw the strange 
expression again that had been growing on his 
face for many weeks. 

‘You have not come for a long time. I have 
been waiting for you.’ 

‘ I was not well. ’ 

‘ But I wanted you. ’ * 

He watched impatiently while she took off her 
hat and cloak quickly. He drew her by one arm 
to the platform, and forced her into position with 
unconscious roughness. 

‘ Why do you not look as I wish you to } Do 
you not see what I want } ’ 

His gaze frightened her, and she tried to soothe 
him by the caresses that had never failed yet to 
quiet him. He did not respond, did not even 
listen. The subtle influence that she had been 
gaining over him, which she had felt, and of which 
she had enjoyed the exercise, was gone, or was 
of no avail when the passion that brooded at 
the back of his eye, shot forth with an ominous 
sparkle. 

‘If I only saw it, if I could only see it,’ he 
muttered to himself, and turned to the picture. 

Then he began to paint. 

Agatha thought that she remained in the 
strained position in which he put her for hours; 
once she asked for a rest; but he did not hear 


UGLY IDOL 


185 

her. He was seeking, seeking for the expression, 
the one expression that receded obstinately from 
his eager hand. He went on desperately, trying 
to clutch at what he could not catch hold of. 
Maddened with a sense of failure, he went on, 
with more concentration than he had ever shown 
before. He would do it, he must, and he turned 
again to study her. But as he looked, she wavered, 
once or twice she swayed, and then fell heavily 
upon the floor, and lay there without a movement. 
He ran to her, knelt beside her, called to her; 
but she did not answer. 

‘ Agatha ! Agatha ! ’ He touched her, he kissed 
her, he knew that by the saying of certain things 
he could awaken a look in her eyes that he loved ; 
but she baffled him now. She neither answered 
nor stirred. This made him angry, and he tried 
rougher measures, and then in his helplessness he 
rose to go for Theresa; but on his way to the 
door, he passed the easel where he was working, 
paused to note the effect of the picture. It 
reclaimed his attention, and he set to work again, 
forgetting the woman who lay there prone, no 
longer of any use to him, no more in his 
thoughts. 

Presently he drew back to regard the effect of 
his work again ; then he flung away his brush, 
the palette clattered to the floor and he stamped 
upon it. A great anger at the thing, the paltry 
baffling thing seized him; his inability to con- 
quer it, he, who had never known what it was to 
be over-mastered, drove him mad with fury, with 


UGLY IDOL 


1 86 

thwarted will. He ran about the room beside 
himself, silent, for the words stuttered behind his 
clenched teeth. He came against the platform 
and saw Agatha lying there still and his eyes 
gleamed as he sprang towards her, all his passions 
concentrated in this glance. He sat beside her 
for a moment inactive, gleaming, smiling, trem- 
bling, and then his notice attracted by her shiny 
hair, he plunged his hands into it, seized her by 
it and shook her, — he shook her. 

‘You! It is you!’ he hissed. ‘You! You 
will not obey me — you can, you shall — I will 
make you, — oh — I will make you — I — I — do 
you hear — you shall. You! — ah!’ He flung 
himself upon her panting, shaking her still, to 
make her answer. 

‘ I am never mistaken, — why do you not 
answer me.^ I will do it — it is so easy — you 
keep me from it. You ’ 

He clawed her with fingers already growing 
weak. He waited a moment but she did not 
answer him and the gleam grew colder in his 
eyes. 

‘ I will make you. I — I will make you ! ’ he 
whispered lower and lower. His little hands 
crept round her neck, the sibilant whispers 
dropped from him more slowly, his owri fair, 
fluffy hair touched hers as he bent over her, and 
his little hands crept round her neck. . . . 

Suddenly her eyelids quivered, lifted, and she 
looked up at him, consciousness gathering and 
bringing with it the look he loved. He dropped 


UGLY IDOL 


187 


back, watching the smile spread over her face; 
he was astonished, he trembled still, and the 
perspiration glistened on his forehead. No, this 
was not the creature who had lain there a 
moment since, who had baffled him, opposed 
him; this was she who caused him so much 
pleasure. 

Agatha realized that she had fainted, and — he 
was there, he had restored her. . . . He had left 
his work, he, who could not be drawn from it 
even by Theresa — he had comfe to her aid, was 
leaning over her now. 

‘ Lester ! I have fainted, have I interrupted 
you? Forgive me, I could not help it, but do 
not be troubled on my account, do not look so 
troubled. See, I am all right, do not be worried. 
Let us go.’ 

He felt her embrace again, and the beautiful 
face looked up at him as he loved ; yet a remem- 
brance of his hands round her neck, and all that 
he felt when he put them there lingered in his 
confused thoughts, and he watched her distrust- 
fully. 

‘ I do not want you,’ he murmured, ‘ to sit any 
more.’ 

She gazed at him in astonishment, then she 
noted his fatigue and trembling hand, and 
wondered at the sensitiveness of his nature. She 
whispered soothingly all the caressing words she 
knew to calm him, but his troubled air, his 
perplexed frown, his doubting eyes frightened 
her, and she felt a momentary uneasiness. 


88 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ Lester ! ’ she cried, ‘ what is it? Will you not 
tell me? What is the matter with you?’ 

He continued to regard her in silence, watching 
her frightened face in fascination. 

‘ Yes,’ he murmured at last. ‘ It is she, and she 
is beautiful.’ The gratified smile came to his lips 
as he listened to her, he was very tired and the 
sound of her voice was pleasant in his ears. He 
urged her on, he held her hand, and a sense of 
peace and well-being stole over him. 

The door behind the curtains opened and 
Theresa came in. For a moment she looked at 
them, and for a second time she understood the 
beauty of Agatha, and she realized that art 
sometimes is only the shadow of reality, and that 
even out of pictures, women looked like this. 

She banged the door. 

Agatha turned, and Theresa’s appearance 
brought her back to the ordinary life that existed 
for her outside the studio. She wondered 
dreamily how it came to have invaded here. 

‘ Agatha,’ said Theresa, ‘ I think he is ill to-day 
and you have been here a long time.’ 

‘Yes, I am afraid he is very tired;. I will go.’ 
She turned to Lester and repeated to him that 
she would have to go now. He put his arm round 
her to detain her. ‘ No, no,’ he said, kissing her. 

Theresa turned her back and clasped her bony 
hands together. ‘ It is evident that I must remain 
sane,’ she said to herself, trying to fill her ears 
with her own nonsense. ‘Yes, I am sane; it is 
the only bathos of life, and makes everything 


UGLY IDOL 


ridiculous. Theresa is ridiculous, and inadequate 
language only gives her a big Damn, and that is 
not appropriate.’ 

She turned briskly and found that Agatha was 
just shutting the door. 

‘ Lester ! ’ 

He did not answer. 

‘ Lester, listen, dear. Do you love this woman ? ’ 

Seeing that it was Theresa, he smiled as he had 
always smiled to her, and she cried suddenly: 

‘ Lester, you will never leave me, you love your 
sister, you will not go away from her. Oh, you 
will not leave me alone — now? ’ 

‘What? Theresa, what is the matter with 
you ? — leave you ? ’ 

She knew quite well that he could not do 
without her : she read it in his eyes. 

‘ No, no, I was talking nonsense, as usual.’ She 
was silent for some time, thinking, perhaps, that 
if it had not been for her blindness all this might 
never have happened and as it was 

‘ But do you love Agatha, Lester? ’ 

She watched his vague eyes travel round the 
room. ‘ Yes,’ he said at last. 

‘But do you realize what that means? You 
know you must marry her.’ 

Lester was becoming more and more dreamy 
and did not seem to hear. 

‘ Lester, you must marry her, you know that? ’ 

A painful, dreary business this that Theresa 
had to do. 

He turned his face towards her slowly. 


190 


UGLY IDOL 


^ Yes, — very well. I am so tired,’ he answered 
vaguely, almost sleepily. 

‘ Yes, but attend, dear, do you hear what I say? ’ 

‘ Yes, yes,’ and his eyes closed heavily. 

Theresa felt her loneliness and friendless- 
ness very much ; the burden that rested on her 
shoulders was great and she had no one to 
help her. How could she say to Agatha, ‘ Go 
away while there is yet time, he does not love 
you ’? How could she tell her that he would tire 
of her, that he could not live without her, Theresa, 
and that moreover he grew restless, excited, ill, in 
the other’s company? ‘You will not be happy 
together, and you will not want me.’ Agatha 
would not understand. She would simply be an- 
gry. And then if Theresa allowed the marriage 
to take place, did she not know very well what 
the consequences would be? No, at all costs, it 
could not be allowed ; her first consideration was 
of course her brother, his happiness, his comfort, 
his health. What a fool she had been ; why had 
she not seen it long ago, before it had gone so 
far that Mrs. Yorke had spoken to her about it? 

She would go to Mrs. Yorke now, and see if 
she could not find some sense in this careless, 
unthinking little mother. Theresa went in dread, 
for Mrs. Yorke had every right to be angry at the 
matter to be explained to her; but, perhaps, 
flippant, lazy, she would not mind, or she would 
understand. 

She was, however, as usual, inaccessible. The 
drawing-room was full, for Theresa had happened 


UGLY IDOL 


191 

to arrive on her ‘ Day, ’ and several ladies of Mrs. 
Yorke’s varied acquaintance were gossiping 
mildly and eating sandwiches. Beside Mrs. Yorke 
on the sofa sat an old gentleman, a very beautiful 
old gentleman, and they seemed to Theresa as 
perfectly matched as a pair of china figures. 
His silver ringlets jumped with each turning of 
his head; when he smiled he displayed excellent 
white teeth, all the little movements of his shaking 
hands were very graceful, and a startling youth- 
fulness sat on his face that made her think that 
his frailty was due to illness, not age, most 
certainly not sorrow. Then, as he turned his 
profile to her, with a wicked smile apropos of 
some witticism he was about to utter, she noticed 
a strong resemblance to Gilbert as he used to be, 
and it flashed upon her that this was Mr. Strode. 
She looked at him again, he, who had such a 
footstool of a son, who was such a happy man, 
ah, yes, such a very happy man. She wondered 
how he came to be here and alone, for she had 
understood that he was entirely confined to the 
house and dependent upon his son. 

She went forward to shake hands, and when at 
last he understood who she was, he was charmed 
to meet her again, and apologized for his deafness. 
She asked about Gilbert and received only a very 
vague reply. 

‘ I believe they are rather religious, the Tegart- 
Hoares.?’ asked Mrs. Yorke. 

‘ Oh dear me, yes, extremely so ! Had I not 
better introduce you to them ’ 


192 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ Wicked ! you have not forgotten how to be 
rude yet. But it astonishes me that you should 
belong to their family now. ’ 

‘They are amusing. Tegart-Hoare is very 
nice. A very good thing for me, — for me. ’ 

He beamingly discussed the good points of the 
family, laughing at them the while, but he forgot 
their names, and looked blank when Mrs. Yorke 
recalled reminiscences, and said, ‘Ah.^^ Yes.?’ 
continually. She watched his flushed, nervous 
face with anxiety, and almost wished he had not 
come ; he was so very old, and ill, and yes, a little 
foolish. 

‘ It is just as well that you are in the hands of 
the Tegart-Hoares, ’ she said lightly. ‘It will 
give you a chance of saving your soul. ’ 

‘ I lost it long ago,’ he answered as flippantly, 
‘I think you had something to do in the losing 
of it, eh.?’ 

‘ That sounds dreadful. You know I never 
did anything wicked in my life. ’ 

‘Really.? no, no, perhaps not,’ he laughed to 
himself. So they flirted with each other, until 
Mr. Strode began to show signs of fatigue. He 
looked about restlessly and put out a feeble hand, 
and murmured, ‘ Gilbert. ’ Then he rose in a sud- 
den hurry and said that he must go, searched for 
his hat and gloves with a great deal of aimless fuss, 
and Mrs. Yorke, considerably frightened, drove 
him home. She talked to him on the way, and 
told him, laughing, that he was really getting old, 
or rather frail, and was it safe for him to go out so 


UGLY IDOL 


193 


much ? He should stay at home. Then she dropped 
him at the corner of the street, and went on her 
way shopping. Gilbert saw him coming, excited, 
flushed, and bewildered, and went to meet him. 

‘ Yes, it is Gilbert,’ said Mr. Strode, taking his 
arm with a sigh of relief. ‘ Make haste and open 
the door, boy, don’t keep me out in the open air, 
I think I have caught cold. ’ 

So Theresa had found Mrs. Yorke otherwise 
engaged, as usual, and was obliged to go away 
without having said anything. She had heard 
one of the sandwich-eating persons say, ‘ Quite 
delightful for Agatha, is n’t it Her mother has 
told me for certain that the marriage will take 
place in June. ’ 

‘ Nothing is decided, ’ Theresa had bounced out. 
‘ My brother’s health is too unsettled. ’ 

This was followed by a gentle, ruminative, 
cud-chewing silence, but when she turned to go 
away she heard some one say : 

‘ Health ! You know that means his mind ; he 
really is — I have heard it said that he is — very 
eccentric. ’ 

Theresa went away with these words ringing 
in her ears, and the worst of it was that they 
were true. 

Next time Agatha came, as usual, to see Lester, 
she was met by Theresa, and it seemed to her 
that the small woman was as indomitable as the 
guarding dragon in fairy-tales. 

‘ No, ’ Theresa began, ‘you cannot see him — ’ 
and there her jaws shut with a click. She was 
13 


194 


UGLY IDOL 


going to have had a long interview with Agatha, 
to have appealed to her womanly sense, to have 
shown her, — hideous task, — her brother as he 
really was. ‘ Don’t you see, ’ she was going 
to have cried, ‘ he is very gentle, very lovable, 
but he is a genius, and, — he is odder than he used 
to be.J^ He does not love you, he does not want 
to marry you, it is not right that he should marry 
you. ’ She was going to have told all these brutal 
truths to Agatha, but as soon as she saw the tall, 
fair, dreamy woman, she realized the futility of 
it, and she said, ‘You cannot see him.’ And 
Agatha slowly withdrew. 

‘ No, ’ Theresa said to herself, ‘ she suspects 
me, she would not believe me. ’ 

With a quick brightening of her face, she 
suddenly jumped up and went away to put on 
her hat. She was going to Gilbert ; he was her 
only friend, her only intimate friend, for, as often 
happens, in the midst of a large circle she stood 
alone. With her usual promptitude of action, she 
went to him the moment she thought of him, 
quite forgetting, in her hurry, the relations she 
had supposed to exist between him and Agatha 
before he married. 

She arrived there and was shown into the 
drawing-room, and her observant eye mechani- 
cally took in all its details. 

‘ Wife predominates here evidently. I wonder 
whether she painted the mantel-piece — not bad. 
There is not a vestige of Gilbert here — poor 
Gilbert. ’ 


UGLY IDOL 


195 


A door was opened somewhere and a dry, 
precise voice called, ‘ Ella ! Who dusted my room 
this morning? ’ 

There was a heavy scuffling of feet and a 
breathless person answered, ‘ Mary, I suppose. 
Why?’ 

‘ Did I not leave particular orders that nothing 
on the writing-table was to be touched? Now 
I miss two important letters. You must either 
get rid of that girl or see that she obeys. ’ 

‘ But, Gilbert, she is a very good servant. I 
will tell her, but are you sure they aren’t on the 
floor ? ’ 

‘Certainly not. I ’ve looked, of course.’ 

A little more conversation in the same tone 
ensued, then the door was shut again and a bell 
was rung sharply. A moment after, Ella, red 
and flustered, swung into the drawing-room and 
apologized for keeping the visitor waiting. 

‘ Oh dear ! ’ she broke off, ‘there ’s the cat, ’ and 
she hastily caught it up, adding, ‘ My husband 
does not care for it to be in here, ’ and disappeared 
again with the animal in her arms. 

Theresa looked and listened in wonder; she 
almost doubted whether it was really Gilbert’s 
house she had entered. When Ella returned, 
she talked for five minutes on ordinary topics, 
and decided that she liked Ella. Ella thought 
Theresa was much nicer than when she had last 
seen her. 

‘ I may as well say that I have come to see Gil- 
bert, ’ announced Theresa abruptly, after a pause. 


196 


UGLY IDOL 


' Oh ! ’ said Ella hesitatingly, ‘ he is at home. 
He is obliged to take his holidays now, unfortu- 
nately, although I think he needs them. He works 
so hard, you know, and he is far from well just 
now. Mr. Strode is very weak and frail. I think 
that partly upsets him. The doctor comes every 
day, and he told me that he thought he would be 
the better for a change. ’ 

Theresa did not pay much attention to the 
colloquial mixture of pronouns, and Ella stopped, 
having come to the end of her news. 

‘ I will go and look for him,’ she said awkwardly. 

‘ Oh, no, ’ said Theresa. ‘ Don’t trouble. I’ll 
go, ’ and she darted away without further cere- 
mony. She knocked at the door she had heard 
open a while ago. 

‘ Well ? ’ growled Gilbert. 

‘ It ’s me. Make haste and open the door. ’ 

Ella listened to this in open-mouthed aston- 
ishment. She herself would not have dared to 
address him thus in his present humor. Gilbert 
opened it hastily, and Theresa went in. 

‘Theresa!’ he exclaimed a little huskily, 
extending his hand in welcome. ‘ How pleased 
I am to see you. ’ 

She was conscious of a moisture round her eyes, 
for, from what she had heard of him, she had not 
expected this effusive welcome, the real joy that 
lit up his livid face. He put her into the big- 
gest chair, and stirred the fire and looked at her 
expectantly. 

She felt a sudden reluctance to speaking about 


UGLY IDOL 


197 


Agatha to him, and he did not look like a man 
in a position to give comforting advice. Her 
conclusion that that episode had been one of those 
things that pass in a man’s life began to waver; 
perhaps, after all 

‘ How many times do you go to church on 
Sundays now.? ’ she asked irrelevantly. 

He understood from this, and her face, that she 
was greatly annoyed and troubled about some- 
thing. What.? he wondered nervously. 

* What is the matter .? Has anything happened .? ’ 

‘Yes,’ said Theresa sadly. 

‘Tell me, what is it? ’ 

‘Don’t look so anxious, it has nothing to do 
with you, only with me. ’ 

‘ Only with you .? ’ 

‘ No, no, Gilbert ! I want you to help me. ’ 

Then all of a sudden she disappeared behind her 
handkerchief. Gilbert sat before her, his knees 
drawn together, in the awkward position of a 
man alone with a woman crying. 

‘ I am keeping you waiting, ’ she said pres- 
ently. 

‘I will wait as long as ever you like,’ he 
answered gently, but his face belied him. He 
was terribly anxious. 

‘ I know, that is why I came. But I came to 
talk business. It is you, Gilbert, who upset me. 
I am never upset by anything. ’ 

‘Did you say you wanted me to help you? 
You generally help yourself better.’ 

‘ I will tell you all about it. I don’t know 


198 


UGLY IDOL 


what to do. I have been so blind. I was secure 
in his simplicity — ’ She told him the whole 
situation, and gradually became too absorbed in 
her own view of the case, her own distress, to 
notice his silent attention. He sat motionless 
in his chair, and turned his face from the light. 

‘ Her mother is no use, and I cannot do it. She 
suspects me; she would not believe me. There 
is no one, only I thought that you, who know her 
so much better ’ 

^ 1 ? Do you know what you are saying } ’ he 
shouted, leaping from his chair. 

For the first time in her life Theresa was un- 
sympathetic, selfish, self-absorbed. Her one 
thought was fear for her brother, and she would 
leave no stone unturned where he was concerned. 
She was no longer looking at Gilbert, and it was 
simply with surprise that she said : 

" Even you will not be sensible. Will you not 
help me.^ Don’t you realize what my brother 
is to me } ’ 

He sat down, again, pushing his chair a little 
further into his dark corner. ‘ Go on, ’ he said. 

‘But, Gilbert, she will listen of you better 
than to any one. She spoke more to you, and 
you seemed to understand her better. You know 
you were a sort of brother to her. ’ 

‘ Sort of brother ! ’ He laughed. Had Theresa 
quite forgotten, or was she choosing to forget for 
her own purposes ? 

‘Yes,’ he said, seeing that she paused, ‘a sort 
of brother. ’ 


UGLY IDOL 


199 

* When she was a little girl she always went to 
you. ’ 

‘That is a long time ago.’ 

‘But a hint or two — just a word. ’ Theresa 
walked about the room. ‘ Surely you are not 
going to treat me like a stranger now, to keep me 
outside that wall of silence too, Gilbert.^ Have 
you no feeling for her, then, that you will not 
even move a little finger.^’ 

‘Hush, stop! I — er — I am thinking.’ After 
a moment he added prosily, ‘Why do you not 
marry them and look after both of them ? ’ 

‘ Impossible I it would lead to all sorts of 
catastrophes. I have just been explaining that 
to you. Where are your wits.^ You are not 
helping me much. ’ 

He thought again in silence. Theresa paused 
before him and peered into his dark corner. 

‘Gilbert.?’ 

‘ But, ’ he began desperately, ‘ I never see her. 
I have not been to the house for yea — months. 
I could not make an ostensible call and deliver a 
lecture.’ He suddenly laughed; it was, like 
everything else, so ridiculous. 

‘ Of course not, but I can arrange it. I am 
going to take Lester down to Nodes. Then I 
will invite her, then you," and then I will take 
Lester abroad. ’ Theresa talked very fast, and 
the more she thought of it the more she blamed 
herself, the more she set her heart on her little 
plan. 

‘ It will be very easily managed then. Oh, how 


200 


UGLY IDOL 


I blame myself for having been so blind ! It is 
all my fault; but perhaps it isn’t too late. Gil- 
bert, you will do it, won’t you, Gilbert.^ ’ 

‘ Very well, ’ he said ; ' I will do it. ’ 

‘ I am sorry it should fall on your shoulders. 
I would have done it myself if I could. ’ 

‘ Oh, it does not matter. ’ 

Having arranged this, Theresa returned to 
comparative equanimity, and awoke to his some- 
what odd behavior. 

‘Gilbert, I will not press you, — if you have 
any serious objection,’ she hesitated. 

‘No, oh no, I assure you.’ 

‘ What is the matter, are you going to despatch 
me with that? Was your dinner indigestible 
last night or what? ’ 

He rose to see her to the door, and taking her 
hand held it in his for some time, looking down 
at her the while. 

‘Gilbert, you trouble me dreadfully. You 
always do what I tell you, but I feel sure this 
time that it is something you really do not wish 
to do. Don’t make me feel that I am forcing 
you, — to anything that hurts you. ’ 

‘No,’ he said quickly, dropping her hand. 

‘ Nothing of the kind. ’ 

She went away feeling that she had not suc- 
ceeded ; another person’s opinion generally helped 
her to make up her mind her own way, and she 
came away with the sensation of having beaten 
herself without effect against a stone wall ; no, 
not quite a stone wall, but she felt that Gilbert 


UGLY IDOL 


201 


had become inaccessible even to her. He was 
the only person to whom she could turn, and he 
had listened so reluctantly, so coldly, — but no, his 
manner had not been precisely cold, he seemed, if 
anything, overcome with inward emotion. She 
gave it up, only she went home with a nameless 
oppression hanging over her, and she said to her- 
self, ‘ I know that it will not come right. Some- 
thing will happen, I feel it in the air, — like 
thunder, yes, distinctly thunder.’ 

Gilbert sat down again after Theresa left him ; 
she did not know how cruel she had been, but he 
had undertaken to do it. He would go to Agatha 
and he would say to her, ‘ You must not love this 
man, you cannot marry him, he is mad, — or any 
way he will become so, — he will make you un- 
happy, and it cannot be allowed. ’ Ha, ha ! he, 
— he would say that to her. And could he trust 
himself.? He had not seen her for so long, he 
had banished every thought of her from his mind, 
and she was not an unnaturally beautiful creature 
of dreams to him, was she.? He looked forward 
to a nice long honorable life at the office, with 
his wife at his side, did he not .? oh yes, he was a 
cold, prim person, who could be trusted with this 
paternal duty, and he must help poor Theresa; 
it is very nice to have confidence reposed in 
one, particularly by such a managing general as 
Theresa. 

He could trust himself, his emotions never 
gained the upper hand of him — one — two — 
Agatha — no, never. Her actual presence would 


202 


UGLY IDOL 


not awaken or rouse this strange turmoil that sent 
the blood throbbing in the veins in his temples ! 
Did he love her, or was it, only all his bitterness, 
his disgust with life, his perverted energies, his 
broken, miserable, hated life? 

' Gilbert ! Gilbert ! ’ cried Ella, knocking at 
the door. He flung it open. 

‘ Dinner. The gong has gone three times. I 
am sorry we are so late, but Mrs. Weir Brighton 
/ was here and kept me talking. Her daughter is 

going out to the Zenana Mission, I am sure she 
is very brave. ’ 

After a while Ella went on. ‘ Do take more 
soup, Gilbert, it is one of Shaw’s invention, and 
I think it is very good for you. ’ 

‘ It is very good, my dear,’ he answered pleas- 
antly. ‘You are the best housekeeper any 
one could have, Ella, and you have the art of 
looking as if no responsibility rested on your 
shoulders. ’ 

She smiled well pleased, and never thought of 
telling him the amount of anxious consideration 
his habits and idiosyncrasies cost her. She never 
had pointed them out to him, or only in such a 
way that he mistook it for feminine grumbling. 

‘Oh, by-the-bye, the doctor said he would 
come again to-night, he said your father was not 
so well to-day. And Mr. Strode was calling for 
you this afternoon, and when I went to tell him 
you were busy, he was quite upset. I wish he 
had not taken such a dislike to me. ’ 

‘Yes, it is unfortunate, but you should have 


UGLY IDOL 


203 

sent a message by Martha. You know he is not 
to be irritated. ’ 

Both relapsed into silence, and the moment the 
meal was over Gilbert hurried upstairs, and Ella 
sat down alone in the drawing-room. She felt 
lonely, for it had not been Gilbert’s habit lately 
to leave her in the evening, he seemed to seek her 
company, and the restless eagerness would die 
from his eyes when he sat beside her. ‘ Read to 
me, Ella,’ he would say, and he had gradually 
educated her to read and appreciate books that 
formerly had been Hebrew to her. The simple 
pieces that she only played for her own satis- 
faction, he listened to with evident pleasure, and 
would have none of her sonatas ; and her placid 
flow of commonplace conversation sent him to 
sleep, for which she was glad. True, he came 
down in the morning something hot, in a hurry 
and a state of frigid fuss that upset the household. 
But all men are like that, you know, especially 
when they are going to the office. 

Gilbert went upstairs quickly. This nightly 
visit was a painful business, more especially since 
his father had come home that day, chilled and 
angry. A terrible dread clutched at his heart 
every time that he turned the handle of the door. 
It followed him always, it told him that his father 
was growing frailer, much frailer every day. He 
paused now in the passage to compose his features 
and to smile before he entered. He looked round 
the room and thought that surely nothing was 
wanting here, nothing absent that would help to 


204 


UGLY IDOL 


retain this precious life and preserve it. Surely 
this would be left him; it was not possible that 
this should be taken from him. 

His father was sitting as usual in his big chair 
by the fire amusing himself with chessmen on a 
board, for his eyesight no longer permitted him 
to read or write. 

‘How are you to-night.?’ said Gilbert, cross- 
ing the room. 

‘All right, all right, my boy. You are late, 
you leave me very much alone, why did n’t you 
come sooner .? ’ 

‘I will come as early as you like to-morrow. 
I think the doctor is coming again to-night. ’ 

‘Who, who.? Speak more distinctly. ’ 

‘The doctor, — you know, — the nice fellow 
who brought the chessmen. You like him, don’t 
you .? ’ 

‘Yes, very nice man, but he thinks I’m ill. 
Now I am as well as possible.’ He shook his 
curls and laughed cunningly. 

‘ Never mind, he has plenty to talk about, and 
these little mistakes don’t matter.’ 

‘ No. — What ’s-her-name! Tuts, forget peo- 
ple’s name now. Martha, what ’s-her-name.? ’ 

‘ Ella, ’ said Martha quickly. 

‘Yes, of course, E-Ella was here this after- 
noon. I wish you would keep her away, why do 
you let her come .? ’ 

‘ It shall not happen again ; but she cannot do 
you any harm, I am always there. ’ 

Mr. Strode fingered a pawn absently, and 


UGLY IDOL 


205 

glanced about him evidently trying to catch some 
thought that evaded his memory. 

‘ Ah yes ! Clothilde, — no, ’ he shook his head 
testily; this name invariably angered him. 

‘Mrs. Yorke, Mrs. Yorke ’ 

‘ Yes ’ said Gilbert anxiously. She had come 
to visit his father once since he had been con- 
fined entirely to the house. She had stayed five 
minutes, and had descended in a flurry, had 
admired the drawing-room and had made several 
useful suggestions to Ella. 

‘ She was here — she was extremely rude, — she 
said I was old and ill, — she laughed — and some- 
thing about being bothered by decrepit old — 
what was it ! — she used to admire me, she is not 
old, I am not old — ’ his face flushed and he leant 
forward in his chair with the vague troubled look 
in his eyes that smote the heart of his son. 

Gilbert took his hand. ‘ Look, ’ he said. ‘Don’t 
think about her, she is not worth it; if she 
does n’t admire you, well it does n’t matter, she 
is silly. I will not let her come here again. You 
have me, you know. ’ 

The wandering fingers closed over his hand. 

* Yes,’ murmured his father, ‘ you are here.’ 

There was a moment’s silence, Gilbert did not 
move, and Martha coughed the awful cough that 
comes on old people sometimes. 

‘ What is the king doing over here — a problem } ’ 

Mr. Strode laughed merrily, and began to show 
his son how the king came there. He had been 
teaching Martha to play and she was so stupid. 


206 


UGLY IDOL 


then she had read him a detective story and he 
placed the men to show her how it worked. 

' See, ’ he said with interest. ‘ This was the 
fellow that committed the murder, that bishop 
over there the one that stole the ring — no, was it ? 
Martha, read the story again. Now read distinctly, 
I can't hear you, read distinctly, I tell you ! ’ 

Martha approached the book to the lamp and 
peered at it through her worn old eyes, eyes worn 
in the service of this most charming master; 
Mr. Strode, with a happy smile, placed the chess- 
men as the story unfolded, and Gilbert knelt 
beside him, very interested also, giving furtive 
knocks to the obstinate pawns that his father’s 
shaking fingers could not move properly. 

In the midst of this, Martha remembered that 
it was time for Mr. Strode’s medicine, and Gil- 
bert rose to put it out. 

^ Don’t go away, come here, — the things are 
all falling.’’ 

‘ Yes, — just one moment.’ 

‘ Will you come here.^ You have knocked 
them all over. I wish you would do as I tell 
you. ’ 

‘ No, see, I am here,’ said Gilbert, putting the 
glass down before him. 

‘ What ’s that ? I don’t want it, take it away. 
You have upset them, and all my work is undone. 
Careless, thoughtless, selfish, — always were.’ 

* I will pick them up, I know where they were. 
Let us get this glass out of the way first; it is 
only a mouthful. ’ 


UGLY IDOL 


207 


‘ Do you take me for a child, damn you ? You, 
and the doctor — and her — you ’re in a conspiracy 
against me, you want to poison me, I know you 
do. Take it away at once, at once.’ 

‘ Father ! ’ 

‘ Don’t shout at me, I am not stone deaf yet 
either — take the thing away at once ; you want 
to poison me, I know you do, you tried the other 
day when I was ill. You want to keep me shut 
up, you want to make people believe I’m — I’m — 
Leave go ! Martha ! Martha ! make him leave go.’ 

Gilbert was obliged to retreat, while Martha 
soothed her patient, but he could not make up 
his mind to go away; he would wait till the 
mood was past, till the smile was back again, it 
would come very soon. But he could not be 
long with his father now without this happening; 
always, always his visits ended in his going away, 
sad, outcast, while Martha calmed her enraged 
master. Did he really distrust his son? It 
seemed so like it that Gilbert could not take it 
philosophically and say to himself, ‘ He does not 
mean it, he does not know what he is saying.’ 
And at other times his father showed such an 
open love of him ; the wandering fingers closed 
over his hand, ‘ Yes, you are here.’ 

This love was all he had, all, all. 

‘ You had better go away, Mr. Gilbert. 

‘ No, I will wait here and see.’ 

* You must go just now, Mr. Gilbert.’ 

' I shall stay in this corner.’ 

‘ Houts ! ’ said Martha. 


208 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ Keep an eye on him,’ went on Mr. Strode. 
‘ He has evil intentions, I ’ve seen it, over and 
over again. They keep me shut up, he makes 
people say nasty things to me, he forgets who I 
am, and that I ’ve done everything for him, he 
was always untrustworthy.’ 

*No, no, — listen, — I am your son, you know. I 
^am your son. Look at me, you trust me, we 
were doing the chess a little while ago, don’t you 
remember? Yes, you know me, — say that you 
know me, — Gilbert, Gilbert, you love Gilbert ! 
He always does everything for you.’ 

The smile, that particular smile did not come 
back. ‘ Take him away ! ’ shrieked his father, 
recoiling from him, and turning helplessly to 
Martha. ‘ He is trying to catch hold of me, save 
me! You will repent treating your poor old 
father like this some day, sir, when I am gone. 
It is you who made me ill, I won’t have it, do you 
hear? Put him out — lock the door, I won’t have 
him in here again.’ 

Gilbert went. He went down to his study and 
walked about there through an endless night. He 
told himself that his father did not know what he 
said; yes, but that did not alter it. A little 
while ago these tempests had been brief; they 
had passed away, and his father had looked at 
him, looked at him so confidently,^ — they gave 
him something to live for, to think of always, to 
care for, those eyes. Ah 1 they were very much 
to him, these loving, following, watching eyes. 
‘ Yes,’ his father would say, ‘ I have you, my boy.’ 


UGLY IDOL 


209 


And now they were very seldom there, more often 
they were doubting, mistrusting, and afraid ; oh, 
that was it, they were afraid, and they only grew 
the more frightened the more he tried to soothe 
and explain. ‘It is I ! ’ he cried to them and 
they made no response, they were frightened — 
of him. 

The night was very dark. Just as well perhaps 
that the night was dark; one does not want the 
eye of light to penetrate this darkness, no ! — no ! 

In the cold grayness of early morning Gilbert 
crept upstairs ; at the hour when some things die 
and others sleep, and the shadow of another world 
lies coldly on the face of things, when no shadow 
is black, or no light white, and all is gray. . . . 

He paused outside his father’s door; probably 
he slept, or he might be awake, he was sometimes 
at this hour but — he turned the handle softly and 
went in, longing for a look from the eyes that 
loved him. 

Gilbert stood at the end of the bed; no, his 
father was asleep, and Gilbert looked at him. 

Mr. Strode lay with his face to the light, this 
beautiful face with its white hair about it, the happy 
pleased smile on its lips. No anger, no mistrust, 
but only this happy, happy smile. As Gilbert 
looked, there came back to him very vividly the 
radiant father who lay in the sunshine at Cam- 
pagne Saleve long ago ; it seemed to his fancy, 
his very kindly fancy, that he of the golden beard, 
the god-like beauty lay there; he heard the 
ringing laugh again, and the light shone on the 
14 


210 


UGLY IDOL 


bright hair of the great, grand, adored father. 
Ah! ah I cher petit p^re ador^ ! Yes, it seemed 
to Gilbert, that after all, his father had not 
changed much. 

He looked at the face again, and his eyes 
widened, and he stretched forth a timid feeling 
hand. 

' ‘ Father ! ’ 

He fell across the bed with a big cry. 

And Mr. Strode lay peacefully with his face 
turned to the light, and on his lips his most 
radiant smile. 

This was at the hour when the shadow of 
another world lies coldly on the face of things, 
and all is gray 


CHAPTER IX 


Theresa *went to meet Gilbert at the station. 
He had written her a short letter thanking her 
for the flowers she had sent, and giving her the 
date of his departure and the train by which he 
would arrive. She thought of writing to him, 
and then concluded that she would not deluge 
him with correspondence ; only she hoped that he 
had forgotten Agatha, and would not remember 
the part she had asked him to play. Perhaps 
she could do it better herself ; she would take an 
afternoon, and in a gentle conversation she would 
open Agatha’s eyes, what could be simpler? But, 
on the contrary, she found that it grew more 
difficult, for Lester continued to seek Agatha’s 
society, he wanted her always beside him, to sing 
to him, and follow him when he idled in the gar- 
den, or on a warmer day, to go out with him in the 
boat. Yet also, as ever, he turned to Theresa 
for all his wants. ‘ Theresa ! Theresa ! ’ was heard 
through the house as often as before. 

Mrs. Yorke was there, ill, completely upset, and 
she wondered if they could not put the marriage 
off for a month or two. ‘ That he should have 
gone and died now,’ she murmured crossly. 


212 


UGLY IDOL 


As Theresa stood, waiting for the train on the 
empty platform, something forlorn about the 
sleepy little station struck her. She remembered 
the many times she and Lester had come and 
gone, and she idly wondered what would have 
^happened before they left again. 

The train drew up, one door only opened, and 
a dog jumped out. Marcus Aurelius approached 
with inquisitive nose advanced, but he and 
Adolphus belonged to different families now, and 
growled a little to remind each other that they had 
people under their charge. Gilbert followed his 
dog, and then Ella came with a bundle of wraps 
and went away at once to look after the luggage. 

‘ Ah, you have come to meet us, that is very 
kind of you. How delightful the air is here after 
London. And the train was crammed unfortu- 
nately,’ Gilbert began somewhat absently. He 
looked tired, his raised eyebrows, his eyes particu- 
larly looked tired, and being an unusually pale 
complexioned man, the red on his cheeks did not 
become him. 

When Ella came up, Theresa admired her; 
.she was big, perhaps, but she had a commanding 
presence that carried off her bigness, and she was 
less stout than she used to be ; she had lost her 
vivid color, and there was an expression on her 
face which was not all teeth. 

‘ How do you do? — Yes the luggage is all right. 
I think you had better get in, the air is cold after 
that hot compartment.’ 

She packed her husband and the bundle into 


UGLY IDOL 


213 


the carriage, saying to Theresa, that the long legs 
of the one and the stick-handles of the other re- 
quired a certain amount of manoeuvring. Gilbert 
seemed to have changed since Theresa heard him 
say,'‘ Who dusted my room this morning? ’ 

Gilbert sat forward and watched the country 
unfurl on either side of him ; little green leaves 
were bursting forth from silver sheaths on all the 
trees, round fat purple hedges were beaded with 
red-nosed buds, and all the brown earth was 
green-shadowed with the tiny blades that pushed 
busily up into the sunshine. Gulls from the sea 
hovered over the fields, and the sun lay low, cast- 
ing long shadows of trees across the road. The 
air was full of the chatter of birds ; rooks cawed, 
tits twittered, and the sparrows quarrelled. Oh, 
everything was so young, growing, green, and all 
the world was gay. . . . 

He leant back in his corner, and took off his 
glasses. 

‘ I am afraid you are tired. We shall soon be 
there now. There ’s the sea.’ 

‘ Oh no, only the sun is a little bright on this 
white road,’ and he did not wish to look at the 
blue, dancing sea. 

No one was in the drawing-room when they 
arrived, for Mrs. Yorke declared that she could 
not possibly face Gilbert. 

‘ Death, so close to one, upsets me dreadfully. 
I am quite shaken. And hardly a month ago he 
was talking away in my drawing-room, and per- 
haps I was n’t quite kind — well, I was n’t think- 


214 


UGLY IDOL 


ing. People with recent losses are always hor- 
rid ; ’ and so the minute she heard the carriage 
wheels she retired to her own room, to wait, any 
way till the ice was broken. ‘ Yes, I am old, I 
am old,’ she cried to herself and looked in the 
glass. ‘ Any way I must put on that pale gray 
thing to-night. It is a toning color.’ 

Ella had not disliked Theresa the first time she 
saw her, and now she thought her a nice person, 
particularly, too, as there were no people in green 
plush garments of odd manufacture about her. 

‘ You know,’ Theresa said to her, ‘ Gilbert is 
quite at home here, and I hope you will be so 
also. He needs you to look after him, and you 
must do that just as if you were at home. No 
one stands on ceremony here.’ 

Ella found this to be true. At first she was 
perplexed, but when she saw that they all did 
as they liked, came and went or stayed, accord- 
ing to their inclinations, she found the freedom 
very enjoyable. The drawing-room, all the rooms 
were homely, and the furniture, worn to the degree 
of comfort attained by old boots and shoes, 
was mended and patched and faded and repose- 
ful. It was particularly inviting on the day that 
they arrived : the sun shone in at the three draw- 
ing-room windows that looked over the sea, a 
group of deep, dozing chairs were gathered round 
the fire, and a little tea-table stood ready there. 
It was, to town people, * the country,’ peaceful, 
simple, beautiful; where one lies under trees and 
dreams and is so happy — oh, so very happy, and 


UGLY IDOL 


215 

where the tragedy of life is the crumpling of a rose 
petal. 

‘ How nice it is here ! ’ said Ella, while Theresa 
poured out tea. 

‘ Yes, it is growing old with us, and fits round 
our bumps and projections,’ but Theresa looked 
about sadly as she spoke ; the place was old, 
worn-out, yes, she felt it, worn-out: trouble had 
entered into it, and the charm was gone. The 
sun shone in at the windows and made obvious 
the patches. 

Gilbert sat in one of the deepest chairs trem- 
bling at every sound in the house, fearing that 
Agatha would come into the room at any moment. 
Of course she would come into the room, as she 
had come years and years ago, was n’t it, into 
the studio; she would swish past and look at 
another — how she would look at another! He 
felt a dream-like sensation stealing over him, and 
he watched Ella with vague eyes; she was re- 
ceding into the background, into the unheeded 
surroundings, whence she had emerged last year, 
was it? — and the image that was reality to him 
grew larger, and brighter. It was the last thing 
left him, this image, and even to that he had no 
right — yes, yes, the image was his, all his, per- 
haps it was no longer quite Agatha — or it would 
be wholly Agatha, only when she was there. . . . 

Let us jewel the eyes of our idol. 

No ; he shook himself and opened his eyes, he 
was dreaming — nonsense, as usual, and he be- 
came conscious of a murmur of conversation. 


2i6 


UGLY IDOL 


‘ Don’t make a noise, you will waken him/ 

O ! ’ he said, ‘ I am not asleep,’ and then he 
knew very well that Agatha was there, appearing, 
as he had often seen her before, with the failing 
light, the grayness of dusk about her; fair, mys- 
terious, and very remote. She came towards him, 
and sat down beside him, after having been intro- 
duced to Ella. 

‘ I have heard all about it,’ she said gently, 
‘ Theresa told me.’ Then, after a moment’s pause, 
she went on to say that she had not seen him for 
such a long time, and that she had missed him. 
She was very sorry that he looked so ill, but the 
air here would surely do him good ; ‘Lester,’ she 
said happily and simply, ‘ improved noticeably in 
a week, did he not, Theresa? ’ 

‘ Yes,’ Ella and Gilbert answered simultane- 
ously, ‘ the air was delightful.’ 

‘ It is nearly dinner-time,’ said Theresa, after a 
pause, beginning to be anxious about her brother’s 
absence. ‘ Play us one of those old-fashioned 
airs your mother taught you, Agatha.’ 

Agatha began an air that was well-known to 
two of her listeners; long ago, Mrs. Yorke had 
played it at the Campagne Saleve, and the sound 
of it had come through the open door to the 
children in the garden. ‘ Listen ! that is the 
flowers crying because they have to go to bed. 
Look, the daisy has curled up all its eyelashes,’ 
Gilbert had said, dreamily lying, as usual, on the 
overhanging bank of the Arne. 

The tune agitated Gilbert now; it thrilled 


UGLY IDOL 


217 


through him, it played upon every fibre, it recalled 
to him every emotion, every feeling of joy or 
sorrow that this woman had caused him. The 
notes mocked him, they jeered, they were cruel, 
they were vicious. ‘ Here we are again,’ they said 
with a hideous laugh in them. ‘ A little changed, 
eh ! Oh, we are not done with you — we will 
excite you, work upon you, tear you to pieces. 
We will remind you of your father, he is not here 
now, where is he? Nothing is here — for you — 
only us, listen well, and feel our cutting pain, this 
is the last time you will hear us. Oh^ ! — what 
mischief we are doing ! we will tear you to pieces, 
we will madden you, poor unfortunate, who were 
foolish enough to come under our spell ! Listen, 
listen, it is the last time you will hear us — the 
last — time,’ sang the concluding chords. 

Gilbert rose abruptly from his chair, and left 
the room. He went out, out into the garden, and 
felt the cool evening air about him, and heard it 
whisper among the leaves. Down below was a 
wide expanse of shimmering sea; subtle, silent, 
peaceful water, hiding the danger of the quick- 
sands under a gentle face. 

‘ Dear little tune,’ Gilbert whispered to himself, 

‘ that sings to me “ a last time.” Is there a last 
time? It goes on and on, always on, but — a last 
time — yes, I will make it a last time.’ 

^Gilbert! ’ 

He turned. His wife had followed him, and 
she said that it was too cold to stay out. He 
loved her well ; she was always the same, and her 


2I8 


UGLY IDOL 


presence was soothing. He turned to her for 
almost everything, and she was always ready to do 
whatever he asked, with a calmness that made all 
things seem easy and natural. She no longer irri- 
tated him either by an uncomprehending stare. 

‘ The sea is lovely to-night,’ he said, taking her 
arm. 

‘Yes. I would like to stay out; but I think 
we should go in. It is so restful, isn’t it?’ By 
that she meant that she hoped he found it so. 

‘Yes,’ he said smiling, ‘very restful. . . . You 
are not sorry you came now, Ella? ’ 

‘ No, — oh no.’ 

At first neither Ella nor Mrs. Tegart-Hoare had 
been anxious for Gilbert to go amongst ‘ them.’ 

‘Gilbert wishes to take Ella to that Miss — 
I don’t remember the name. Of course, one does 
not wish to cross the dear boy ; but I really do 
not think she is a person I should like Ella to 
be intimate with.’ 

‘Well, he can go alone,’ said Marmaduke ; 
but Gilbert had told his wife that he could not go 
without her; he had become accustomed to her, 
and had grown dependent upon her lately, and 
besides, — oh yes, she must go. j 

‘ Don’t interfere with the poor dear fellow now,’ 
went on Marmaduke. ‘ I know Miss Schelless, 
and I prefer her infinitely to Lady Ulith.’ 

‘ Really ! Well, if that is the case.’ 

‘Yes, I assure you, my dear Emma,’ he added, 
without qualifying his remark or giving reasons. 

So Ella went to her husband, and told him 


UGLY IDOL 


219 

that her mother permitted them to go, under the 
circumstances. 

‘Permit!’ said Gilbert. ‘Well, well, never 
mind. ’ 

And Ella found ^ them ’ much nicer than she 
expected. She did not know of course that 
Theresa was unnaturally silent and sober, and did 
not understand her when she said one day, ^ I am 
aging, and my wits are falling out like teeth. ’ 

Mrs. Yorke, delicate, fragile, was a person who 
moved Ella’s instinct to help, and one generally 
encountered her carrying some of the shawls and 
baskets of this indolent lady. Mrs. Yorke was 
delighted to have some one always there to whom 
she could chatter. Theresa gardened as assidu- 
ously as ever, but with vacant eyes, and without 
any pleasure, only she found a little amusement 
in teaching Ella the names of plants and the art 
of raking. 

‘You are one of these people that keep others 
from going quite mad, ’ she said. 

Gilbert told Ella that Lester was a great 
genius, and this astonished her much, he was so 
gentle, so unobtrusive, so completely in the back- 
ground. 

‘ Background ! ’ repeated Gilbert. She did not 
know why. 

He had sought her out in the garden, looking 
more than ordinarily tired and flushed, and had 
dropped down on the ground beside her. She, 
quite certain that the ground was damp, had 
pillowed his head upon her skirts. 


220 UGLY IDOL 

'He and Miss Yorke are engaged, aren’t 
they?’ 

' Yes. ’ 

' I thought so ; engaged people are generally 
invisible, and they are always together. ’ 

^ ' Always. ’ 

' But I think she looks very happy. * 

' Yes. Oh, by-the-bye, I must have left my 
’ and he got up and went into the house. 

Lester’s study was in a corridor that was shut 
off from the rest of the house by a baize door, 
and it was there that he spent most of his time. 
Gilbert was passing down the passage, when he 
heard voices and paused. It was Lester, not in 
the study, but in Theresa’s little piggery next 
door to it. 

‘ I will make her ! ’ he was not speaking loud, 
but his voice was very distinct, and the sound of 
it bound Gilbert to the spot. 

' She has defied me — she has done it before — 
she, it is she who prevents me — she has done it 
always — always, and I will make her obey me,’ 
and then it sank to a hissing whisper. 

' Lester, dear, she is asleep. Wait till she wakes.’ 

‘ No, — she is doing it on purpose, — she has 
done it before, — leave go, — I mitst make her, 
— leave go. ’ 

Gilbert drew nearer, and saw through the door 
Lester, struggling to free himself from Theresa’s 
grasp, his eyes glistening with anger — perhaps 
it was anger. On the sofa Agatha lay asleep. 


UGLY IDOL 


221 


‘ Leave go, ’ Lester whispered, his eyes fixed 
upon Agatha. ‘ Why do you hold me Why do 
you not help me ? Theresa, help me, ’ and with a 
sudden jerk he freed his arm, and ran towards the 
sofa. Theresa, helpless, . was about to waken 
Agatha that she might save herself, when Gilbert 
darted past her, seized the little man in his arms, 
and carried him off to the study. Agatha still 
slept. Theresa closed the door of the room behind 
her softly. She clasped her hands in doubt and 
agony, looking to Gilbert for sympathy and to 
share her trouble ; but he came out of the study 
supporting himself by the wall, and she gazed at 
his face at first in vague amazement. 

‘ Has he been like that before.? Why do you 
let him go near her, he will kill her, — he will 
kill her ! ’ His cheeks were red, and that hot bar 
streaked his forehead : she had not thought it 
possible that he could look so angry, so terribly 
angry. 

'But, Gilbert, do you accuse me — you?’ 
moaned Theresa in her loneliness. ‘ He has 
been excited, of course, nothing more. He has 
never been like that — he is as sane as you or I,’ 
she added fiercely; and then she cried, ' What 
am I to do, what am I to do ? ’ 

Gilbert did not speak; he leant against the 
wall for support, and she realized again the girdle 
of silence that bound him about. 

' I am talking nonsense, — it is not safe, — I 
must do something at once; but oh, I assure you, 
he means nothing by it, it is only the excitement 


222 


UGLY IDOL 


that takes him when he has worked too hard. 
You know, he is so gentle, he would never hurt 
a fly — meaningly. ’ 

‘ I will try to let her see — to make her under- 
stand — now, to-morrow, sometime soon, yes, it 
V must be sometime soon, ’ Gilbert said at last. 

Theresa took his hand in silent thanks. ‘ God 
grant that you will be successful, ’ was all she said. 

Gilbert hesitated a moment; he would like to 
have said to her brutally, * I am not doing it for 
your sake ; ’ but he turned and went away in 
silence. 

Out in the garden, under the shade of the trees, 
Ella was sitting, his peaceful, placid wife. He 
went to her with a longing for her soothing, 
calming company, loving her unconsciously, and 
without passion. 

' Let us go for a walk, ’ he said hurriedly. ‘ Let 
us get away. Are you ready } ’ 

‘ Yes,’ she answered at once, noticing his ner- 
vous fidgeting. 

‘ Dolphus ! ’ she called, and their dog ran to them 
leaping and bounding at the prospect of a run. 

Ordinarily, when they went out they dawdled, 
picking flowers and ferns, and Gilbert told his 
wife about the insect life of the woods ; the snails, 
the butterflies, the mask-like wood-lice that he 
remembered at Campagne Saleve. But to-day 
he paced along so fast, that after a while she was 
obliged to stop him. 

‘ Gilbert, remember that we have to go back, 
dear. Let us sit here and rest a moment. ’ 


UGLY IDOL 


223 


^ I am tiring you, why did you not say so 
before? ’ He flung himself down on the dry 
grass, and Dolphus immediately rollicked towards 
him, and sat on the top of him. Warm, silky, 
loving dog ! The sun was warm too ; everything 
was about him that makes life pleasant. 

* Ella,’ he said suddenly. ‘ You have not the 
faintest idea how good you are. ’ 

She smiled indulgently at him. 

' How can you put up with me? You never 
complain, lately you have never complained, and 
I — you ought to. ’ 

‘Why?’ she said simply. ‘I love you and 
I am your wife. ’ 

‘ I wish, ’ he went on after a pause, with a sudden ' 
unreasoning anger, ‘ I wish you were not so 

grandly simple! It makes me feel ’ As 

usual, he relapsed into silence and did not say 
aloud what he thought. 

‘ I am afraid, ’ said Ella, not attempting to 
understand him, ‘ that the air here does not agree 
with you. ’ 

At that he laughed, and she wished that he 
would not laugh — that way. 

‘ No, perhaps not . . . but it does n’t matter. 
It ’s not for long. ’ 

‘ No, only another week, and I am sure you 
would be better quite abroad. ’ 

‘ Yes. ’ 

They turned to go back, and they saw from 
afar the little brown house, nestling among its 
trees. 


‘ One couldn’t find a quieter, prettier place,’ 
said Ella. 

Agatha was sitting in there alone; Gilbert 
could see her through the window. He paused 
to look, and looked so long, that, becoming^con- 
scious of his gaze, she raised her eyes. 

‘ Oh,’ he said hastily, ‘ I was just passing by,’ 
and he stayed. 

‘ I promised Theresa,’ he told himself, ‘ I am 
only here for that purpose — that is all,’ and he 
walked in at the window. 

‘ Another lovely day, ’ he began, and talked 
pleasantly about the weather. He walked about 
the room while he spoke, and looked out at the 
bright, sunny garden beyond. How long would 
it be before he was out there again.? Not until 
he had deliberately infused his gentle little poi- 
son, until he had destroyed her sublime happi- 
ness. He would make her know what it was 
to suffer, she, too, should feel the anguish of 
it — he laughed, and he sat down beside her. 

‘ What is this.? ’ he asked taking up a sketch 
that lay on the table close by. ‘ Is it yours .? ’ 

‘ Oh no, it is an old, old sketch of Lester’s. 
Look at the date, he can only have been twelve. ’ 

‘ I never heard of his painting then.’ 

' No, we never heard anything of him.’ 

‘ He always was peculiar. ’ 

‘ No one ever understood him. ’ 

' No, no one does, and that is why he makes 
those around him so unhappy. ’ 


UGLY IDOL 


225 


He was coming along very gently and she 
helped him. He clutched the arms of his chair; 
why, after all, should he talk to her of Lester — 
what had Lester to do with him ? Nothing, 
nothing! Why was she not looking at him, and 
why was she so little disturbed } And was she not 
more exquisitely beautiful than ever she had been ? 

‘ Yes,’ he said viciously. ‘ He is a great genius, 
but he has not any of the ordinary feelings of 
man. He is quite devoid of — all things outside 
his talent. ’ 

He waited ; but she did not even think it worth 
her while to disagree. Did she understand.^ 
Why would she not look at him.^ Were his 
words in her ears so insignificant ? 

* You know, ’ he said leaning forward, * Theresa 
— the doctors — fear for his brain.’ 

Now at last she looked at him, and yes, oh 
yes, she was beginning to understand. But how 
she looked at him; with what a superb anger — 
no, an unbelief. 

^ I love him,’ she said. 

Gilbert leant still further forward, a hideous 
grin clutching at the corners of his mouth, and 
he put out a hand to touch her. 

‘ He is mad,’ he muttered slowly, distinctly. 

‘ And he has tried to kill ’ She withdrew from 

him, glancing at him with a cold dislike — oh, 
why did she look at him like that.? ‘ Agatha! 
Agatha! oh, believe me, I am telling you the 
truth — you are mistaken — he is not worthy of 
you, — do not think of him for he is ’ 

15 


226 


UGLY IDOL 


Agatha sat still, amazed. ' Has she no feel- 
ing? ’ he thought desperately. 

‘ O great God ! ’ he cried to her. ' He is a 
monster, he is mad — mad — he does not love 
^ you ! ' 

He took her hand tightly in his; his flushed 
face quivered and his great eyes glared at her. 

‘Yes!’ he shouted. ‘I — /love you — oh ! ’ 
and he remained with his mouth open, his tongue 
clacking against his teeth. 

She wrenched her hand from him and stood 
up ; her nostrils dilated and her paleness grew 
more intense, even that light hair seemed to turn 
gray. 

‘ You ! ’ she said. He told her that Lester was 
a monster, this man, and he had left his wife and 
come to her, knelt before her, and told her that 
he loved her. — ‘ You ! ’ she said. 

Gilbert looked up at her, and gradually he 
realized what he had done and he laughed a little. 

‘ Yes, ’ he answered, looking at her still. ‘ I! ’ 

‘ You said that Lester does not know what he 
is doing, — you say he does not love me, and you 
lie, you lie! You dare to tell me that you love 
me, — you come to insult me, Yoil ! ’ 

Gilbert grovelled under this ‘ You,.!' Never, 
never, had he conceived anything like it — the 
utter scorn, the deep, cutting, killing scorn of it. 

She stood another moment before him, sway- 
ing a little, looking beyond him. 

‘ Lester ! I will ask him, — he who is so pure, 
so exalted above the world and its littleness. I 


UGLY IDOL 


227 


will ask him. ’ She turned away with a confident 
smile. ‘ And I know, — oh, I know what he will 
say. You abuse him because he is so infinitely 
above you, — no, you cannot understand, — you do 
not know the greatness of him ; he loves me as 
you cannot understand. But I will ask him.’ 

She went away, and Gilbert knelt on the ground 
where she left him. Suddenly he realized that 
he was alone, and that she had gone. . . . He 
rose, and he walked out through the window; 
yes, he was going out at the window into the 
bright, sunny garden beyond. Ella saw him go 
and wondered that he did not call her as usual. 
But he passed out through the gate alone. 

In the afternoon he was coming back along the 
edge of the cliffs, and he looked out over the wide 
expanse of glittering blue sea that was tickled by 
the vigorous breeze into little rippling waves that 
sent a checkered net-work of dancing light over 
the face of it. Blue was the sea, tossing up frills 
of white foam round the rocks ; chattering and 
laughing with the pebbles over the secrets of its 
quicksands. Gilbert stood on the long nose of 
the cliff that ran out to the Point, listening, 
looking, for is not the world very fair to look 
upon in spring? 

He looked, and his eye was riveted on the 
white sail of a boat that appeared close below 
him round the end of the bay. It was coming 
slowly home to its moorings, sailing gently before 
the breeze, dipping like a sea-gull into the water. 
He watched it, for he knew it well, and he saw its 


228 


UGLY IDOL 


occupants; he watched it, this little boat moving 
more and more slowly, for Lester, it was evident, 
was paying no attention to his sails. He started 
forward to the very edge, unconscious that there 
was an edge — what did it matter ? The big, kind 
sun shone full on him as he stood there, on his 
lined, flushed face, his straining, glaring eyes — 
no, it was not a kind sun that shone on him 
without the mercy of a shadow. 

The woman in the boat stood up ; he could 
hear that she was speaking, speaking very loud, 
and he saw her fling out her arms in supplication 
before the little, motionless figure at the tiller. 

‘Agatha! Agatha!’ he cried. He knew that 
she was asking for her answer. He — he ! — stood 
by and looked on, he saw her spurned, repulsed; 
he could give her an answer — O God ! a very 
complete answer. ‘ Agatha ! Agatha ! ’ 

She stood up again, and then he saw her at the 
side of the boat. 

She turned once more, again she spoke, and 
still the figure sat motionless at the tiller. 

Then — the water spread itself in broadening, 
grinning wrinkles round about. 

A cry, terrible, triumphant, rang through the 
air and was echoed mockingly among the rocks, 
and with a great jump he sprang from the cliff 
into the deep, smiling sea below. 

‘ Agatha ! ’ 

Lester heard, but still he sat, his eyes wide 
open, gazing. ... A hand clutched at the edge 
of the boat, and for a moment a pale face, 


UGLY IDOL 


229 

despairing, searching, unutterably forsaken, looked 
up at him. . . . 

His eyes suddenly sparkled and he rose with 
nervous energy, directing the boat to its mooring. 
He was going to call for help? He was going 
for aid? 

The sea smiling over the secret of its quick- 
sands, rippled in to the shore. 

Lester came into the room where Theresa sat. 
Looking up she saw his face. 

‘ Where is she? ’ she whispered fearfully. 

He gazed at her, a triumphant smile on his 
lips, his eyes glistening. 

‘ Theresa ! ’ he cried, embracing her fondly, 
‘ I have found it, — I have seen it — now I know, — 
Oh, I know ! ’ 

He ran away to the studio and locked the 
door. 

A picture was exhibited next year which 
created a great sensation. One read that it was 
the greatest attainment of Lester’s genius, and it 
was admired, discussed, denounced. No other 
picture of his was ever shown, and his house in 
London was empty, and then it was rumored 
that he had fallen over on the other side, that is 
no longer genius. . . . 

The name of the picture was ‘Despair.’ 



The Keynotes Series. 

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Cover Design by Aubrey Beardsley. 

Price .... $1,00, 


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XVI. 

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KEYNOTES. By George Eghrton. 

THE DANCING FAUN. By Florence Farr. 

POOR FOLK. By Fedor Dostoievsky. Translated from the 
Russian by Lena Milman. With an Introduction by George 
Moore. 

A CHILD OF THE AGE. By Francis Adams. 

THE GREAT GOD PAN AND THE INMOST UGHT. By 

Arthur Machen. 

DISCORDS. By George Egerton. 

PRINCE ZALESKI. By M. P. Shiel. 

THE WOMAN WHO DID. By Grant Allen. 

WOMEN’S TRAGEDIES. By H. D. Lowry. 

GREY ROSES AND OTHER STORIES. By Henry Harland 
AT THE FIRST CORNER AND OTHER STORIES. By H. 
B. Marriott Watson. 

MONOCHROMES. By Ella D’Arcy. 

AT THE RELTON ARMS. By Evelyn Sharp. 

THE GIRL FROM THE FARM. By Gertrude Dix. 

THE MIRROR OF MUSIC. By Stanley V. Makower. 
YELLOW AND WHITE. By W. Carlton Dawe. 

THE MOUNTAIN LOVERS. By Fiona Macleod. 

THE WOMAN WHO DID NOT. By Victoria Crosse. 

THE THREE IMPOSTORS. By Arthur Machen. 

NOBODY’S FAULT. By Netta Syrett. 

PLATONIC AFFECTIONS. By John Smith. 

IN HOMESPUN. ByE. Nesbit. 

NETS FOR THE WIND. By Una A. Taylor. 

WHERE THE ATLANTIC MEETS THE LAND. By Cali> 

WELL LiPSETT. 


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PRINCE ZALESKl. 

BY M. P. SHIEL. 

Keynotes Series. American Copyright Edition* 
i6mo. Ctoth. Price, pi*oo. 


The three stories by M. P. Shiel, which have just been published in the 
Keynotes series, make one of the most remarkable books of the time. 
Prince Zaleski, who figures in each, is a striking character, most artistically 
and dramatically presented. “The Race of Orven,” the first story, is 
one of great power, and it were hardly possible to tell it more skilfully. 
“ The Stone of the Edmundsbury Monks” is in something the same vein, 
mysterious and gruesome. It is in “ S. S.,” however, that the author most 
fully discloses his marvellous power as a story-teller. VVe have read noth- 
ing like it since the tales of E. A. Poe; but it is not an imitation of Poe. 
We much doubt if the latter ever wrote a story so strong and thrillingly 
dramatic. — Boston Advertiser. 

The first of the three tales composing this little volume is entitled “ The 
Race of Orven,” which supplies the character from whom is taken the title of 
the book. The other two are, “ The Stone of the Edmundsbury Monks ” 
and “The S. S.” There are three maxims on the titlepage, probably one 
for each of the tales, — one from Isaiah, one from Cervantes, and one from 
Sophocles, — but they are a triple key to the spirit of book altogether. The 
Prince, however, rules the contents entirely, pervading them with mysticism 
of every imaginable character. The “ S. S.” tale is decidedly after the 
mani.er of Poe, full of mysterious problems in murders and suicides, to be 
treated with ingenious solutions. There is a morbid tendency running 
through the entire trinity, the author seeming to invent characters and com- 
plications only to exhibit his ingenuity in unravelling them, and in string- 
ing on these ingenious theories the spiritual conceptions in which he is wont 
to indulge his thought. But the thought is both magnetic and bold, and 
rarely illusive. Hermitages, recluses, silences and funereal glooms, and the 
entire family of grotesque thoughts and things, are not merely wrought into 
the writer’s canvas, but are his very staple, the warp and woof composing 
it. It is an across-the-seas collection of conceits, skilfully strung on one 
glittering thread by a matured thinker. The attempt is made to carve out 
the mystery of things from the heart of the outward existence. The men and 
women on whom the scalpel is made to work are real flesh-and-blood en- 
tities, of such strong points of character as to be actually necessary in 
developing the author’s thought as much as his purpose. The book be- 
longs to the increasing class that has come in with the introversive habit of 
modern thought and speculation— call it spiritual or something else. — 
Boston Courier. 


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I 


KEYNOTES. 


a ^Bolume of g)tortc04 

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Not since “The Story of an African Farm” was written has any woman de- 
livered herself of so strong, so forcible a book. — Queen. 

Knotty questions in sex problems are dealt with in these brief sketches. They 
are treated boldly, fearlessly, perhaps we may say forcefully, with a deep plunge 
into the realities of life. The colors are laid in masses on the canvas, while 
passions, temperaments, and sudden, subtle analyses take form under the quick, 
sharp stroke. T»hough they contain a vein of coarseness and touch slightly upon 
tabooed subjects, they evidence power and thought. — Ptiblic Opinion. 

Indeed, we do not hesitate to say that “ Keynotes ” is the strongest volume 
of short stories that the year has produced. Further, we would wager a good 
deal, were it necessary, that George Egerton is a nom-de-plume, and of a woman, 
too. Why is it that so many women hide beneath a man’s name when they enter 
the field of authorship? And in this case it seems doubly foolish, the work is so 
intensely strong. . . . 

The chief characters of these stories are women, and women drawn as only a 
woman can draw word-pictures of her own sex. The subtlety of analysis is 
wonderful, direct in its effectiveness, unerring in its truth, and stirring in its reveal- 
ing power. Truly, no one but a woman could thus throw the light of revelation 
upon her own sex. Man does not understand woman as does the author of 
“ Keynotes.” 

The vitality of the stories, too, is remarkable. Life, very real life, is pictured ; 
life full of joys and sorrows, happinesses and heartbreaks, courage and self-sacrifice ; 
of self-abnegation, of struggle, of victory. The characters are intense, yet not 
overdrawn ; the experiences are dramatic, in one sense or another, and yet are 
never hyper-emotional. And all is told with a power of concentration that is 
simply astonishing. A sentence does duty for a chapter, a paragraph for a picture 
of years of experience. 

Indeed, for vigor, originality, forcefulness of expression, and completeness of 
character presentation, “ Keynotes” surpasses any recent volume of short fiction 
that we can recall. — Times, Boston. 

It brings a new quality and a striking new force into the literature of the 
hour. — 7'Ae Speaker. 

The mind that conceived “ Keynotes ” is so strong and original that one will 
look with deep interest for the successors of this first book, at once powerful and 
appealingly feminine. — Irish Independent. 


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THE DANCING FAUN. 

By FLORENCE FARR. 

IVith Title-page and Cover ‘Design hy Aubrey Beardsley. 

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We welcome the light and merry pen of Miss Farr as one of the deftest that 
has been wielded in the style of to-day. She has written the clererest and the 
most cynical sensation story of the season. — Liverpool Daily Post. 

Slight as it is, the story is, in its way, strong. — Literary World. 

Full of bright paradox, and paradox which is no mere topsy-turvy play upon 
words, but the product of serious thinking upon life. One of the cleverest of 
recent novels. — Star. 

It is full of epigrammatic effects, and it has a certain thread of pathos calcu- 
lated to win our spmpathy. — Queen, 

The story is subtle and psychological after the fashion of modern psychology ; 
it is undeniably clever and smartly written. — Gentlewoman. 

No one can deny its freshness and wit. Indeed there are things in it here and 
there which John Oliver Hobbes herself might have signed without loss of repu- 
tation. — Woman. 

There is a lurid power in the very unreality of the story. One does not quite 
understand how Lady Geraldine worked herself up to shooting her lover; but 
when she has done it, the description of what passes through her mind is 
magnificent. — A thenceum. 

Written by an obviously clever woman. — Black and White. 

Miss Farr has talent. “The Dancing Faun “ contains writing that is distinc- 
tively good. Doubtless it is only a prelude to something much stronger. — 
A cademy. 

As a work of art, the book has the merit of brevity and smart writing, while 
the dhioueme7it is skilfully prepared, and comes as a surprise If the book had 
been intended as a satire on the “ new woman ” sort of literature, it would have 
been most brilliant ; but assuming it to be written in earnest, we can heartily 
praise the form of its construction without agreeing with the sentiments expressed. 
St. James'' s Gazette. 

Shows considerable power and aptitude. — Saturday Review. 

Miss Farr is a clever writer whose apprenticeship at playwriting can easily be 
detected in the epigrammatic conversations with which this book is filled, and 
whose characters expound a philosophy of life which strongly recalls Oscar 
Wilde’s later interpretations. . . . The theme of the tale is heredity developed 
in a most unpleasant manner. The leading idea that daughters inherit the father’s 
qualities, good or evil, while sons resemble their mother, is well sustained. — 
Home Journal. 


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Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications. 


A CHILD OF THE AGE. 

Ho&el. 

BY FRANCIS ADAMS 

{KEYNOTES SERIES.) 

With titlepage by Aubrey Beardsley. i6mo. Cloth. 
Price, i^i.oo. 


This story by Francis Adams was originally published under the title of 
Leicester, an Autobiography,” in 1884, when the author was only twenty-two years 
of age. That would make him thirty-two years old now, if he were still living. He 
was but eighteen years old when it was first drafted by him. Sometime after p^ublica- 
tion, he revised the work, and in its present form it is now published again, practi. 
cally a posthumous production. We can with truthfulness characterize it as a tale of 
fresh originality, deep spiritual meaning, and exceptional power. It fairly buds, 
blos.soms, and fruits with suggestions that search the human spirit through. No 
similar production has come from the hand of any author in our time. That Francis 
Adams would have carved out a remarkable career for himself had he continued to 
live, this little volume, all compact with significant suggestion, attests on many a 
page. It exalts, inspires, comforts, and strengthens all together. It instructs by 
suggestion, spiritualizes the thought by its elevating and purifying narrative, and 
feeds the hungering spirit with food it is only too ready to accept and assimilate. 
Those who read its pages with an eager curiosity the first time will be pretty sure 
to return to them for a second slower and more meditative perusal. The book is 
assuredly the promise and potency of great things unattained in the too brief life- 
time of its gifted author. We heartily commend it as a book not only of remarkable 
power, but as the product of a human spirit whose merely intellectual gifts were but 
a fractional part of his inclusive spiritual endowments. — Boston Courier. 

But it is a remarkable work — as a pathological study almost unsurpassed. It 
produces the impression of a photograph from life, so vividly realistic is the treatment. 
To this result the author’s style, with its fidelity of microscopic detail, doubtless 
contributes . — Evening Traveller. 

This story by Francis Adams is one to read slowly, and then to read a second 
time. It is powerfully written, full of strong suggestion, unlike, in fact, anything w-e 
have recently read. What he would have done in the way of literary creation, had he 
lived, is, of course, only a matter of conjecture. What he did we have before us in 
this remarkable book. — Boston Advertiser. 


Sold by all Booksellers. Mailed by the Publishers.^ 

ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston, Mass. 


Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications. 


DISCORDS. 

91 ^Solume of Stories, 

By GEORGE EGERTON, author of “ Keynotes/' 

AMERICAN COPYRIGHT EDITION. 

i6mo. Cloth. Price, $i.oo. 


George Egerton’s new volume entitled “Discords,” a collection of short stones, 
Is more talked about, just now, than any other fiction of the day. The collectiun is 
really stories for story- writers. They are precisely the quality which literary folk will 
wrangle over. Harold Frederic cables from London to the “ New York Times ” that 
the book is making a profound impression there. It is published on both sides, the 
Roberts House bringing it out in Boston. George Egerton, like George Eliot and 
George Sand, is a woman’s uom de plume. The extraordinary frankness with which 
life in general is discussed in these stories not unnaturally arrests attention. — 
L ilia n IV k iting. 

The English woman, known as yet only by the name of George Egerton, who 
made something of a stir in the world by a volume of strong stories called “ Keynotes,” 
has brought out a new book under the rather uncomfortable title of “ Discords.” 
These stories show us pessimism run wild ; the gloomy things that can happen to a 
human being are so dwelt upon as to leave the impression that in the author’s own 
world there is no light. The relations of the sexes are treated of in bitter irony, which 
develops into actual horror as the pages pass. But in all this there is a rugged 
grandeur of style, a keen analysis of motive, and a deepness of pathos that stamp 
George Egerton as one of the greatest women writers of the day. “Discords” has 
been called a volume of stories ; it is a misnomer, for the book contains merely varying 
episodes in lives of men and women, with no plot, no beginning nor ending. — Boston 
Traveller. 


This IS a new volume of psychological stories from the pen and brains of George 
Eprton, the author of “ Keynotes.” Evidently the titles of the author’s books are 
selected according to musical principles. The first story in the book is “A Psycho, 
logical Moment at Three Periods.” It is all strength rather than sentiment. The 
story of the child, of the girl, and of the woman is told, and told by one to whom the 
.mysteries of the life of each are familiarly known. In their very truth, as the writer 
has so subtly analyzed her triple characters, they sadden one to think that such things 
must be : yet as they are real, they are bound to be disclosed by somebody and in due 
time. 1 he author betrays remarkable penetrative skill and perception, and dissects 
the human heart with a power from whose demonstration the sensitive nature may 
instinctively shrink even while fascinated with the narration and hypnotized bv the 
treatment exhibited. — Courier. ^ 


Sold by all Booksellers. Mailed by Publishers., 

ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston, Mass. 


Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications. 


THE GREAT GOD PAN AND THE 
' INMOST LIGHT. 

BY ARTHUR MACHEN. 

KEYNOTES SERIES. 

i6mo. Cloth. Price, ^i.oo. 


A couple of tales by Arthur Machen, presumably an Englishman, published 
jesthetically in this country by Roberts Brothers. They are horror stories, the 
horror being of the vague psychologic kind and dependent, in each case, upon a man 
of science who tries to effect a change in individual personality by an operation upon 
the brain cells. The implied lesson is that it is dangerous and unwise to seek to 
probe the mystery separating mind and matter. These sketches are extremely strong, 
and we guarantee the “shivers” to any one who reads them. — Hartford Co7irant. 

For two stories of the most marvellous and improbable character, yet told with 
wonderful realism and naturalness, the palm for this time will have to be awarded to 
Arthur Machen, for “The Great God Pan and the Inmost Light,” two stories just 
published in one book. They are fitting companions to the famous stories by Edgar 
Allan Poe both in matter and style. “The Great God Pan ” is founded upon an 
experiment made upon a girl by which she was enabled for a moment to see the god 
Pan, but with most disastrous results, the most wonderful of which is revealed at the 
end of the story, and which solution the reader will eagerly seek to reach. From the 
first mystery or tragedy follow in rapid succession. “ The Inmost Light ” is equally 
as remarkable for its imaginative power and perfect air of probability. Anything in 
the legitimate line of psychology utterly pales before these stories of such plausibility. 
Boston Home yournal. 

Precisely who the great god Pan of Mr. Machen’s first tale is, we did not quite 
discover when we read it, or, discovering, we have forgotten ; but our impression is 
that under the idea of that primitive great deity he impersonated, or meant to im- 
personate, the evil influences that attach to woman, the fatality of feminine beauty, 
which, like the countenance of the great god Pan, is deadly to all who behold it. 
His heroine is a beautiful woman, who ruins the souls and bodies of those over whom 
she casts her spells, being as good as a Suicide Club, if we may say so, to those who 
love her; and to whom she is Death. Something like this, if not this exactly, is, we 
take it, the interpretation of Mr. Machen’s uncanny parable, which is too obscure 
to justify itself as an imaginative creation and too morbid to be the production of a 
healthy mind. The kind of writing which it illustrates is a bad one, and this is one 
of the worst of the kind. It is not terrible, but horrible. — R. H. S. in Mail and 
Express. 


Sold by all Booksellers. Mailed by Publishers. 

ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston, Mass. 


POOR FOLK. 


a jpobcL 

rranslated from the Russian of Fedor Dostoievsky, by 
Lena Milman, with decorative titlepage and a criti- 
cal introduction by George Moore. American 
Copyright edition. 

16 mo. Cloth. $1.00. 


A capable critic writes : “ One of the most beautiful, touching stories I have 
read. The character of the old clerk is a masterpiece, a kind of Russian Charles 
Lamb. He reminds me, too, of Anatole France’s ‘ Sylvestre Bonnard,’ but it 
iij a more poignant, moving figure. How wonderfully, too, the sad little strokes 
of humor are blended into the pathos in his characterization, and how fascinating 
all the naive self-revelations of his poverty become, — all his many ups and downs 
and hopes and fears. His unsuccessful visit to the money-lender, his despair at the 
office, unexpectedly ending in a sudden burst of good fortune, the final despair- 
ing cry of his love for Varvara, — these hold one breathless One can hardly 
read them without tears. . . . But there is no need to say all that could be said 
about the book. It is enough to say that it is over powerful and beautiful.” 

We are glad to welcome a good translation of the Russian Dostoievsky’s 
story “ Poor Folk,” Englished by Lena Milman. It is a tale of unrequited love, 
conducted in the form of letters written between a poor clerk and his girl cousin 
whom he devotedly loves, and who finally leaves him to marry a man not admir- 
able in character who, the reader feels, will not make her happy. The pathos of 
the book centres in the clerk, Makar’s, unselfish affection and his heart-break at 
being left lonesome by his charming kinswoman whose epistles hav-e been his one 
solace. In the conduCtment of the story, realistic sketches of middle class Rus- 
sian life are given, heightening the effect of the denoument. George Moore writes 
a sparkling introduction to the book. — Hartford Courant. 

Dostoievsky is a great artist. “Poor Folk” is a great novel. — Boston 
A dvertiser. 

It is a most beautiful and touching story, and will linger in the mind long 
after the book is closed. The pathos is blended with touching bits of humor, 
that are even pathetic in themselves. — Boston Times. 

Notwithstanding that “Poor Folk” is told in that most exasperating and 
entirely unreal style — by letters — it is complete in sequence, and the interest 
does not flag as the various phases in the sordid life of the two characters are 
developed. The theme is intensely pathetic and truly human, while its treat- 
ment is exceedingly artistic. The translator, Lena Milman, seems to have well 
|jreserved the spirit of the original — Cambridge Tribufie. 


ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, 

BOSTON, MASS. 











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